


V 










? Vl^V c?V.^>* >°\^\ d 



?.- **«* 



*" «*" 



•••- 

^ 
















c5> **,. 







%o^ 






^ * 




'" # \** : 







o 









^ 






: ; 









; .«* 



. ^ «*> 



% o^ 



%!>• r^ -i o 

V 



7 <?U 






cv 






^0^ 



^L* 



^ (fe 






CF 



■- '- : $; ^ 










W 







cS ^ 



^ N # 



c3 **> 



L 4 



•0L> CU 











^ 4 °- 




^ 



-*" 1 .# 




<W V * 



% 

"</> K v 






<S «*, 



<$ ^. 









%LC* 



^ *\w*>,^ ^Vl*^" "^ 



~^> f* ** 



^>.(* 



COLORADO: 



A SUMMER TRIP. 



BAYARD TAYLOR. 




NEW YORK: 

G. P. PUTNAM AND SON, 661 Broadway. 

1867. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 

Bayard Taylor, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of 

New York. 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
EREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 
H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 



>t 



These letters, originally published in the New York 
Tribune, are reproduced in this form, in order to meet 
the demands of a general interest in the regions they de- 
scribe. 



CONTENTS. 



I. A Glimpse of Kansas . 

II. On the Frontier .... 

III. Dp the Smoky Hill Fork . 

IV. Crossing the Plains .... 
V. The Rocky Mountains and Denver 

VI. Farming in Colorado 

VII. Entering the Rocky Mountains 

VIII. Central City and Black Hawk 

IX. Mining and Mining Processes 

X. To Idaho and Empire 

XI. Crossing the Berthoud Pass 

XII. Adventures in the Middle Park . 

XIII. The Ute Pass, Middle Park 

XIV. Final Adventures in the Middle 
XV. Two Rocky Mountain Passes . 

XVI. The Arkansas Valley and the Twin 

Lakes 

XVII. In the South Park . 

XVIII. The Return to Denver 

XIX. A Trip to Boulder Valley . 

XX. Colorado as a Summer Resort. 

XXI. Homeward, along the Platte 

XXH. Glimpses of Nebraska . 



Park 



PAGE 

1 

8 
16 
26 
34 
41 
49 
55 
61 
70 
78 
88 
97 
108 
116 

126 
135 
144 
153 
161 
168 
178 



COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 



A GLIMPSE OF KANMn 

Lawki n< k, Kansas, June 8, 1866. 

Whoeyi'.i: visits Kansas lias the choice of two routes 
from St. Louis. — tin- North Missouri Railroad to St. Jo- 
seph, and the Pacific Railroad to Kansas City. The for- 
mer is three hundred and five miles long, and the trains 
run at the rate of twelve and a half miles an hour; the 
latter has a length of two hundred and eighty-three miles, 
and a speed of fifteen miles an hour is attained. The 
former has the advantage of sleeping-cars ( a palaces," I 
believe, is the western term — at least in advertisements), 
the latter of finer scenery. Having had a dismal experi- 
ence of the former road some seven months ago, I chose 
the latter, and have been well repaid. 

In the United States, railroads avoid the finest scenery, 
the best agricultural regions. This is especially the case 
in the West, where settlement followed the rivers and the 
old emigrant roads, forming belts of tolerably thorough 
cultivation, between wdiich the country — even in Indiana 
and Ohio — is still comparatively rude. It is only within 
a few years that railroads have begun to lead, instead of 
follow settlement, and the line may soon be drawn beyond 
which they will represent the most rapid growth and the 
best cultivation. 
1 



2 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

This reflection was suggested to me while observing the 
country opened to the traveller's view by the Pacific Rail- 
road, between St. Louis and Jefferson City. There are 
but three points which are at all picturesque, — the wooded 
and rocky banks of the sparkling Meramec, and the 
mouths of the beautiful Gasconade and Osage Rivers, — 
and none which exhibit much more than the primitive 
stage of agriculture. Yet the upland region, a few miles 
south of the line of the road, is, I am told, rich, well- 
farmed, and lovely to look upon. 

Even when one reaches the Missouri, there is little in 
that ugliest of all rivers to divert one's attention. A single 
picture of the swift tide of liquid yellow mud, with its dull 
green wall of cotton-wood trees beyond, is equivalent to a 
panorama of the whole stream. For the seventy or eighty 
miles during which we skirted it, the turbid surface was 
unrelieved by a sail, unbroken by the paddles of a single 
steamer. Deserted, monotonous, hideous, treacherous, with 
its forever-shifting sands and snags, it almost seems to re- 
pel settlement, even as it repels poetry and art. 

I travelled as far as Jefferson City in worshipful society, 
— five handcuffed burglars, three of whom had been Mor- 
gan's guerrillas. One of them, in utter opposition to all 
theories of physiognomy, strongly resembled a noted re- 
former. As the other passengers, in referring to incidents 
of the war, always said " Rebels " instead of " Confeder- 
ates," I inferred that their political condition was healthy. 
Emigration is still rapidly pouring into the State, and, as a 
young man from one of the way-stations said, — " If we were 
only all Black Republicans, we 'd soon have the first State 
in the West." 

When the road leaves the river, it enters one of the love- 
liest regions in the United States. The surface is a rolling 
prairie, yet with a very different undulation from that of the 
rolling prairies of Wisconsin and Northern Illinois. The 
swells are longer, with deeper and broader hollows between, 



A GLIMPSE OF KANSAS. 3 

and the soil appears to be of uniform fertility. On either 
side the range of vision extends for eight or ten miles, 
over great fields of the greenest grass and main, dotted 
here and there with orchards, and crossed by long, narrow 
belts of timber, which mark the courses of streams. The 
horizon is a waving purple line, never suddenly broken, but 
never monotonous, like that of the prairies east of the Mis- 
sissippi. Hedges of Osage orange are frequent ; the fields 
are clean and smooth as a piece of broadcloth ; the houses 
comfortable, and there is nothing to be seen of that rough- 
ness and shabbiness which usually marks a newly settled 
country. I have seen nothing west of the Alleghanies so 
attractive as this region, until I left Leavenworth this 
morning. 

In the neighborhood of Sedalia, four or five hundred 
farmers, mostly from Ohio, have settled within the past 
year. I hear but one opinion in regard to the country 
south of the railroad, extending from the Osage River to 
the Arkansas line. Climate, soil, water, and scenery are 
described in the most rapturous terms. One of my fellow- 
passengers, pointing to the beautiful landscapes gradually 
unrolling on either hand, said, — u This is nothing to it ! " 
Yet I was well satisfied with what I saw, and feasted my 
eyes on the green slopes and swells until they grew dark in 
the twilight. 

On reaching Kansas City, the train runs directly to the 
levee, and the traveller is enabled to go directly on board 
the Leavenworth boat, thus escaping the necessity of stop- 
ping at the hotel. I was very grateful for this fact, and 
having already seen the forty miles of cotton- wood and yel- 
low mud between the two places, took my state-room with 
an immense sensation of relief. We reached Leavenworth 
at nine o'clock, in three days and ten hours from Philadel- 
phia. 

This is the liveliest and most thriving place west of the 
Mississippi River. The overland trade has built it up with 



4 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

astonishing rapidity, and it now claims to have a population 
of 25,000. Kansas City, its fierce rival, having suffered 
more than one blockade during the war, Leavenworth shot 
into sudden prosperity ; but now that trade has returned to 
its old channels, Kansas City expects to recover her lost 
ground. It is a subject of great interest to the people of 
the two places, and many are the speculations and predic- 
tions which one hears from both sides. As to the present 
ascendancy of Leavenworth, however, there is no question. 
The town has both wealth and enterprise, and its people 
seem to me to be remarkably shrewd and far-seeing. In the 
course of three or four weeks the two places will be con- 
nected by a railroad which follows the west bank of the 
Missouri. 

The Union Pacific Railroad (Eastern Division) opened 
its branch road to Lawrence in May, and trains now run 
regularly upon it, connecting with the main line for Topeka 
and — San Francisco. One of my objects in visiting Col- 
orado being to take a superficial view of both railroad 
routes to the Rocky Mountains, I decided to go out by 
way of Fort Riley and the Smoky Hill, and return along 
the Platte to Omaha, in Nebraska. My first acquaintance 
with the Pacific Railroad, therefore, commenced in Leav- 
enworth. The train starts from a rough piece of ground 
outside of the town, follows the bank of the Missouri for 
six or eight miles, and then strikes inland through a lateral 
valley. 

Here commence my new experiences. I have never be- 
fore been west of the Missouri River. Let me now see 
what is this Kansas which for twelve years past has been 
such a noted geographical name — which has inspired some 
thousands of political speeches, some noble poems, and one 
of the worst paintings that mortal eye ever beheld. The 
very repetition of a name, even in the best cause, some- 
times becomes a little wearisome. I frankly confess I have 
so often been asked, " Why don't you visit Kansas ? " that 



A GLIMPSE OF KANSAS. 5 

I lost almost all desire of visiting Kansas. Now, however. 
I am here, and will see what there is to be seen. 

We gradually rose from a bottom of rather ragged-look- 
ing timber, and entered a broad, sweeping, undulating re- 
gion of grass. Cattle were plenty, pasturing in large 
flocks, and there were occasional log-cabins, great fields of 
corn where the thrifty blades just showed themselves above 
a superb growth of weeds, and smaller patches of oats or 
wheat. Everybody complained of the incessant rains, and 
this accounted for the weedy condition of the fields. The 
soil appeared to be completely saturated, and the action 
of the hot sun upon it produced almost visible vegetable 
growth. 

Here I first witnessed a phenomenon of which I had 
often heard, — the spontaneous production of forests from 
prairie land. Hundreds of acres, which the cultivated fields 
beyond had protected against the annual inundation of fire, 
were completely covered with young oak and hickory trees, 
from four to six feet in height. In twenty years more these 
thickets will be forests. Thus, two charges made against 
Kansas seemed to be disproved at once, — drought and 
want of timber, the former being exceptional, and the 
latter only a temporary circumstance. 

The features of the landscape gradually assumed a cer- 
tain regularity. The broad swells of soil narrowed into 
ridges, whose long, wavelike crests generally terminated 
in a short step, or parapet, of limestone rock, and then 
sloped down to the bottom-lands, at angles varying from 
20° to 30°. Point came out behind point, on either side, 
evenly green to the summit, and showing with a wonder- 
fully soft, sunny effect against the sky. Wherever a rill 
found its way between them, its course was marked by a 
line of timber. The counterpart of this region is not to be 
found in the United States ; yet there was a suggestion of 
other landscapes in it, which puzzled me considerably, until 
I happened to recall some parts of France, especially the 



6 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

valleys in the neighborhood of Epernay. Here, too, there 
was rather an air of old culture than of new settlement. 
Only the houses, gardens, and orchards were wanting. 

As I leaned on the open windows of the car, enjoying the 
beautiful outlines of the hills, the pure, delicious breeze, and 
the bright colors of the wild-flowers, the bottom-lands over 
which we sped broadened into a plain, and the bluffs ran 
out to distant blue capes. Along their foot, apparently, 
the houses of a town showed through and above the timber, 
and on the top of the further hill a great windmill slowly 
turned its sails. This was Lawrence. How like a picture 
from Europe it seemed ! 

A kind resident met me at the station. We crossed the 
Kaw River (now almost as muddy as the Missouri), and 
drove up the main street, one hundred feet wide, where the 
first thing that is pointed out to every stranger is the single 
house left standing, when the town was laid in blood and 
ashes, in August, 1863. LawTence has already completely 
arisen from her ruins, and suggests nothing of what she has 
endured. The great street, compactly built of brick, and 
swarming with traffic ; the churches, the scattered private 
residences, embowered in gardens ; the handsome college 
building on the hill, indicate long-continued prosperity, 
rather than the result of nearly ten years of warfare. The 
population of the town is now about 8000. 

This afternoon my friends took me to Mount Oread (as 
I believe the bluff to the west is named), whence there is a 
lovely view of the Wakarusa Valley. Mexican vaqueros 
were guarding their horses on the grassy slopes, and down 
on the plain a Santa Fe train of wagons was encamped in 
a semicircle. Beyond the superb bottoms, checkered with 
fields and dotted with farm-houses, rose a line of undulat- 
ing hills, with here and there an isolated, mound-like 
" butte," in the south. It was a picture of the purest pasto- 
ral beauty. 

A little further there is a neglected cemetery where the 



A GLIMPSE OF KANSAS. 7 

first martyrs of Kansas — Barbour among them — and the 
murdered of Lawrence lie buried. The stockades of the 
late war, and the intrenchments of the earlier and pro- 
phetic war, are still to be seen upon the hill. So young a 
town, and such a history ! Yet now all is peace, activity, 
and hopeful prosperity ; and every one, looking upon the 
fair land around, can but pray that the end of its trial has 
been reached. 



n. 

ON THE FRONTIER. 

Junction City, Kansas, three miles west op ) 
Fort Riley, June 20, 1866. J 

As I recrossed the Kaw in order to take the train to To- 
peka, I felt that my stay in Lawrence had been too short. 
The day was warm and cloudless, with a delightful prairie 
breeze, and the softly tinted dells beyond the Wakarusa 
invited excursions. The main street of the town began to 
swarm with farmers' wagons, pouring in from the rich coun- 
try to the south ; the mechanics were at work upon new 
buildings in all directions ; the vans of the windmill on the 
bluff were whirling merrily, and all sights and sounds spoke 
of cheerful occupation. Fortunately, the people of Lawrence 
do not expect their place to become " the greatest town in 
the West, sir ! " — so they are tolerably sure of a steady 
and healthy growth for a good many years to come. 

I reached Topeka — twenty-nine miles by rail — in an hour 
and a half. The road is laid along the Kaw bottoms, on a 
grade as nearly level as possible. The valley has an aver- 
age breadth of five or six miles, and the uplands on the 
north and south terminate in a succession of bluff head- 
lands, which, with a general family likeness in their for- 
mation, present a constantly changing variety of outlines. 
The lateral valleys repeat the features of the main valley, 
on a smaller scale. Sometimes the bluffs retreat so as to 
form a shelving semi-basin, or amphitheatre, a mile or two 
deep, — a grand concave slope of uniform green, set against 
the sky. At intervals of two or three miles the road crosses 



ON THE FRONTIER. 9 

tributary streams of the Kaw, flowing in narrow, sunken 
beds, the sides of which are fringed with trees. The land- 
scapes have a breadth and harmonious beauty, such as I 
know not where else to find in the United States, outside 
of California. 

Indeed, there is much in Kansas to remind one of Cali- 
fornia. These hills, now so green, must be a golden brown 
in the autumn ; the black soil takes or loses moisture with 
equal rapidity ; the air has the same keen, bracing flavor of 
life ; and there seems to be some resemblance in the meteor- 
ological conditions of the two countries. Certainly, next 
to California, this is the most attractive State I have yet 
seen. 

The grain-fields along the Kaw bottom were superb. I 
have seen no corn so forward, no wheat so close and heavy- 
headed, this year. The farmers were taking advantage of 
the day to work their corn-fields, the most of which were 
in sore need of the operation. Rank as is the wild grass 
of this region, the imported weeds have a still ranker 
growth. Last year's fields are completely hidden under 
crops of "horse-weed," every fence-corner has a grove of 
giant datura (Jamestown-weed), and the roads are lined 
with tall ranks of sunflowers. I saw no garden that was 
entirely clean, and, what struck me with more surprise, 
no attempt at an orchard. The beauty of the country lies 
in its natural features; cultivation, thus far, has not im- 
proved it. 

Topeka, at present, is the end of passenger trains on the 
Pacific Railroad. In another week, however, they will run 
daily to Waumego, thirty-five miles further, or one hundred 
miles west of the Missouri River. We landed at a little 
cluster of shanties, newly sprung up among the sand and 
thickets on the north bank of the Kaw. Here an omnibus 
was in waiting, to convey us across the pontoon bridge — 
or rather two bridges, separated by a bushy island in the 
river. Beyond these the town commences, scattered over 



10 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

a gentle slope rising to the south for half a mile, when the 
land falls again toward a creek in the rear. I found com- 
fortable quarters at the Capitol House. Mr. Greeley's 
" vanishing scale of civilization " has been pushed much 
further west since his overland trip in 1859. 

Topeka is a pleasant town (city ?) of about 2500 inhab- 
itants. The situation is perhaps not so striking as that of 
Lawrence, but it is very beautiful. Unfortunately, some 
parts of the place are destitute of water, which must now 
be hauled for the supply of families. There seemed to me 
to be a greater number of substantial private residences 
than in Lawrence. The building-stone — a buff-colored 
magnesian limestone, easily worked — appears to improve 
as we ascend the Kaw. It is found everywhere in the 
bluffs, and the handsomest buildings one sees are those 
constructed of it. 

After calling upon Governor Crawford, and all the other 
State officers, — of whom I have to record that they are 
very amiable and pleasant gentlemen, — a friend treated 
me to a delightful drive into the adjacent country. Land, 
he informed me, is rapidly rising in value ; a farm adjoin- 
ing the city on the east has just been sold for two hundred 
dollars per acre. The high price of grain for several years 
past, and the present rise in real estate, have been of great 
benefit to Kansas, enabling both farmers and speculators to 
extricate themselves from their former embarrassments. 

It rained heavily during the night, and in the morning 
the roads were changed from dust to mud. Nevertheless, 
as I had arranged to take the overland coach at this place, 
thus saving myself twenty-four hours of fatiguing travel, I 
engaged a livery team for Manhattan, fifty-five miles west of 
Topeka. But I would advise any stranger visiting Kansas 
to make himself independent of livery-stables, if possible. 
The prices are rather more than double what they are in 
California. From Topeka to this place, my expenses for 
livery teams have averaged half a dollar per mile ! 



ON THE FRONTIER. 11 

Leaving Topeka at nine o'clock, with some promise of 
better weather, we crossed to the north bank of the Kaw, 
and after floundering for a mile or two among mud-holes 
in the timber, emerged upon the open, grassy level of the 
valley. The sun came out bright and warm ; the bluff 
capes and sweeping hills glittered in the light, fading from 
pure emerald into softest violet; tufts of crimson phlox, 
white larkspur, spikes of lilac campanulas, and a golden- 
tinted cenothera flashed among the grass ; and the lines and 
clumps of trees along the streams were as dark and rich 
as those of an English park. The landscapes were a con- 
tinual feast to the eye, and each successive bend of the 
valley seemed to reveal a lovelier and more inspiring 
picture. 

The larger streams we crossed — Soldier Creek and 
Cross Creek — did not issue from close ravines between 
the bluffs, as is usual in this formation, but each rejoiced in 
its broad rich belt of bottom-land, stretching away for miles 
to the northward. Most of these creeks are spanned by 
bridges, where a toll of from fifteen to twenty-five cents is 
charged. Their waters are clear and swift, and good mill- 
sites are already being selected. The advantages of the 
State, both in regard to wood and water, seem to me greater 
than has heretofore been represented. 

After a drive of twenty-two miles, we reached a neat, 
whitewashed cabin, with the sign : " Hotel, A. P. Neddo." 
The landlord was a giant half-breed, remarkably handsome 
and remarkably heavy, familiarly known as " Big Aleck." 
He has four hundred acres of superb land, and is accounted 
wealthy. Big Aleck furnished us with a good dinner of 
ham, onions, radishes, and gooseberry-pie. Among the 
temporary guests was an Irish teamster, who had a great 
deal to say about Constantinople and the Sea of Azof. 

Within four miles of Topeka commences the Pottawot- 
tamie Reservation, which extends westward along the Kaw 
for twenty or thirty miles. Many of the Indians are now 



12 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

obtaining patents for their share of the land, in order to 
sell to emigrants, and in a few years, doubtless, the entire 
reservation will thus be disposed of. Here and there a 
wretched cabin and a field of ill-cultivated corn denotes 
the extent of Pottawottamie civilization. We met a num- 
ber of Indians and squaws on horseback — one of the lat- 
ter in a pink dress and wearing a round hat with upright 
feather, and her hair in a net. A little further, we came 
upon a mounted band of twenty or thirty, all drunk. My 
driver showed a little uneasiness, but they drew aside to let 
us pass, and a few hoots and howls were all the salutation 
we received. 

St. Mary's Mission is a village of a dozen houses, with a 
Catholic chapel, on this reservation. My eyes were here 
gladdened by the sight of a thriving peach orchard. The 
house and garden of the priest, in their neatness and evi- 
dence of care, offer a good model to the Protestant farmers 
in this part of Kansas, whose places, without exception, 
have a slovenly and untidy aspect. 

We had a drive of fourteen miles from the Mission to 
the village of Louisville, on Rock Creek. The road swerved 
away from the river, occasionally running over the low bluffs, 
which gave me views of wonderful beauty both up and down 
the Kaw Valley. Every mile or two we passed wagon or 
mule trains, encamped near springs of water, their animals 
luxuriating on the interminable harvest of grass. I was 
amazed at the extent of the freight business across the 
Plains ; yet I am told that it has somewhat fallen off this 
season. I have seen at least two thousand wagons between 
Lawrence and this place. 

The view of Rock Creek Valley, before we descended to 
Louisville, was the finest I had had, up to that point. Even 
my driver, an old resident of Kansas, broke into an excla- 
mation of delight. The village, at the outlet of the valley, 
had a tolerable future before it, until the railroad estab- 
lished the new town of Waumego, two and a half miles dis- 



ON THE FRONTIER. 13 

tant. In another week, the latter place will be the starting- 
point for the overland coaches, which will give it a tempo- 
rary importance. 

The bottom of Rock Creek is a bed of solid limestone, 
as smooth as a floor. Just above the crossing, a substan- 
tial dam has been built, which furnishes a good water- 
power. We did not stop here, but pushed on toward Man- 
hattan, over the rolling hills to the north, whence we looked 
out upon grand distances, dark under the gathering clouds. 
By seven o'clock, the thunder drew nearer, and there was 
every indication of a violent storm. I therefore halted at 
Torrey's, a farm where the Overland coach changes horses, 
and was no sooner housed than the rain came down in tor- 
rents. The cabin furnished plain fare, and a tolerable bed, 
although the storm, which raged all night, leaked in many 
places through the roof. 

Rising this morning at five o'clock, I found no abatement 
of the rain. We were soon sodden and mud-splashed from 
head to foot. The road, however, on the uplands, was 
beaten hard, and we made such good progress that we 
were at Manhattan, eight miles, in time for breakfast. 
This town, of five hundred inhabitants, is situated at the 
junction of the Big Blue with the Kaw. North of it rises 
the Blue Mound, a bluff three hundred feet in height, 
whence the view is said to be magnificent. There are five 
churches in the little place, and a mile in the rear, on a 
ridge, is the State Agricultural College, which already has 
one hundred and thirty pupils. The houses are mostly 
built of the beautiful magnesian limestone (resembling the 
Roman travertine), which gives the place a very neat and 
substantial air. This was all I could notice in the interval 
between breakfast and the harnessing of a new team for 
this place. With a Manhattan merchant as guide, I set 
out again in the dismal storm, slowly making headway 
through the quagmires of the bottom-lands. 

I remarked that the bluffs were higher as we advanced, 



14 . COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

the scenery more varied and picturesque, and, if possible, 
more beautiful. The wild-flowers grew in wonderful pro- 
fusion and richness of color. I was surprised to see, at the 
foot of one of the bluffs, a splendid specimen of the yucca 
Jilamentosa, in flower. We crossed the Wild-Cat, a swift, 
clear stream, with magnificent timber on its bottoms, then 
Eureka Lake (a crooked slough dignified by that title), 
and after making ten very slow miles, reached Ogden, a 
German settlement, with a dozen houses, one brewery, and 
three beer-saloons. Here I saw one field of one hundred 
and twenty acres of superb corn, completely inclosed by a 
high stone wall. 

More muddy bottom came, then low rolling hills, and in 
another hour we saw the buildings of Fort Riley, crowning 
a hill, two miles in advance. Before reaching the Fort, 
we passed the site of Pawnee, noted during Governor 
Reeder's administration, in the early days of Kansas. 
Except two stone houses, the town has entirely disap- 
peared. The Fort is charmingly situated, the sweep of 
bluffs around it being seamed with picturesque, wooded 
ravines which descend to the Republican Fork. No won- 
der it is a favorite military station. I should have enjoyed 
it more but for the discouraging rain and the interminable 
mud. 

We crossed the Republican on a floating bridge, and 
drove through three miles more of mud to this place, which 
occupies a rising ground at the base of the triangle formed 
by the Smoky Hill and the Republican Forks. It has four 
or five hundred inhabitants, a good hotel (the Eagle), and 
a handsome weekly newspaper, " The Junction City Union." 
Buildings — nearly all of stone — are going up rapidly, and 
trade is very brisk, in anticipation of the place soon being 
the temporary terminus of the Pacific Railroad. Passenger 
trains will reach Fort Riley by the first of August, and then 
a great part of the Overland business will no doubt be 
transacted here instead of at Leavenworth. 



ON THE FRONTIER. 15 

I must close, to catch the mail. The Denver coach has 
just come in. A through passenger, a fresh, rosy-cheeked 
boy, informs me that all is quiet along the route. To-mor- 
row the coach I take will be here, and you will next hear 
of me from some station on " the Great American Desert." 



III. 

UP THE SMOKY HILL FORK. 

Denver, Colorado. 

After my arrival at Junction City, the rains which had 
flooded all Eastern Kansas, stopping stages and railroad 
trains alike, ceased entirely, and the weather became clear 
and fine. Although my main object in visiting Junction 
was to secure a good night's rest before setting out on the 
Plains, I was immediately requested to lecture that even- 
ing. There was no hall, the only one having been recently 
burned ; no church yet completed ; no announcement had 
been made — but in these far-western towns nothing is im- 
possible. A store-building, just floored and plastered, with- 
out windows, and, indeed, occupied by carpenters at work, 
was selected ; planks carried in for seats, a temporary plat- 
form built, messengers sent around to give private infor- 
mation to the people, and in two hours' time lo ! there was 
a good audience assembled. 

All Tuesday I waited vainly for the Overland stage-coach. 
The accounts from down the Kaw Valley represented the 
streams as being impassable, and toward sunset the enter- 
prising population considered that my delay w T as now so far 
extended as to warrant a second lecture. With less time 
for preparation, they achieved the same result as the first 
night ; and, truly, I have rarely had a more agreeable audi- 
ence than the hundred persons who sat upon the planks in 
that unfinished store-building. What other people than the 
Americans would do such things ? 

While at Junction I witnessed a very interesting experi 



UP THE SMOKY HILL FORK. 17 

ment. The bluffs of magnesian limestone behind the town 
precisely resemble, in color and texture, that which forms 
the island of Malta. In the quarry it has a pale buff tint, 
with a soft, cheesy grain, which may be cut with a good 
hatchet, or sawed with a common handsaw ; yet, after 
some exposure to the air, it becomes hard and assumes a 
rich, warm color. Messrs. McClure and Hopkins, of Junc- 
tion, had just received a sawing-machine, driven by horse 
power, and several rough blocks were awaiting the test. 
Nothing could have been more satisfactory. The saw cut 
through the stone as easily and steadily as through a block 
of wood, dressing a smooth face of eighteen inches square 
in exactly two minutes. The supply of stone being inex- 
haustible, this is the beginning of a business which may 
make the future cities of Kansas and Missouri the most 
beautiful in the world. 

I stated the population of the place at four or five 
hundred, but I am told it is nearly one thousand, each 
building representing thrice the number of inhabitants as 
in the East. So I hasten to make the correction, for noth- 
ing annoys these frontier towns so much as either to under- 
state their population or underestimate their prospective 
importance. Junction City will soon be the terminus of 
railroad travel, and the starting-point of the great overland 
freight business, which will give it certainly a temporary 
importance. The people, I find, desire that the road shall 
run up the Republican Valley, in order to secure, at least, 
the New-Mexican trade for a few years ; but this is not a 
matter to be decided by local interests or wishes. The dis- 
tance thence to Denver by the Republican route would be 
one hundred and thirty-nine miles longer than by the 
.Smoky Hill route. 

Another comfortable night at the Eagle Hotel, and 

Wednesday came, warm and cloudless, without any sign <>f 

the stage. Mr. McClure kindly offered to drive me to Sa- 

liim, the last settlement on the Smoky Hill Fork, forty-live 

2 



18 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

miles further, and we set out soon after breakfast. The 
road along the bottom being too deep, we took that leading 
over the rolling country to the north. Climbing through a 
little glen to the level of the bluffs, we had a charming 
backward view of the junction of the rivers, with the build- 
ings of Fort Riley crowning the wooded slopes beyond ; 
then forward, over many a rolling mile of the finest graz- 
ing land in the world. Two miles further w r e found a train 
of w r agons just starting with supplies for the stage stations 
along the line. Mr. Stanton, the superintendent, informed 
me that he had come through from Denver to Fort Riley 
this spring, with ox-teams, in twenty-seven days. He ex- 
pects to make three round trips this season, taking up corn, 
and bringing back lumber for the houses and stables to be 
built on the line. 

We had occasional views over the bottoms of the Smoky 
Hill, which, the people claim, are even richer than those of 
the Kaw Valley ; but that seems impossible. Twelve miles 
of pleasant travel brought us to Chapman's Creek, the first 
stage-station. Here, however, the stream was nine feet 
deep, and the people at the ranche informed us that we 
would have to take a ford two miles higher up. It seemed 
to me better to return to Junction and await the stage 
there, than to risk missing it by leaving the main road ; 
so we put about and retraced our journey. 

At noon, when we had reached the bluffs and were think- 
ing of dinner, what should we see but the stage, at last, 
driving toward us from the town ! Hunger, then, was to 
be my first experience on the Overland journey. We 
turned out of the road ; I alighted with my baggage, and 
awaited the approach of a face well-known in the Tenth 
Street Studio Building. There were two passengers, but 
neither of them was my friend. In fact, the driver shouted 
to me before he pulled up his horses, " Your friend did n't 
come." One of the passengers handed me a letter from 
the agent at Topeka, informing me that Mr. Beard would 



UP THE SMOKY HILL FORK. 19 

probably not be able to reach that place for three or four 
days, on account of the floods. My arrangements in Den- 
ver would not allow me to wait ; so I deposited myself, blan- 
kets and baggage, in the stage, and was fairly embarked for 
crossing the Plains. 

I traversed, for the third time that day, the route to 
Chapman's Creek. The water was still rising, and we, 
therefore, tried the upper ford, and successfully. The road 
beyond this descended from the Smoky Hill, and followed 
the broad, level bottoms of that river. The soil was, in- 
deed, of wonderful fertility, though but little of it, as yet, is 
under cultivation. Toward sunset we reached the village 
of Abilene, or Abeline (how or whence the name was de- 
rived I cannot imagine, unless it is an abbreviated corrup- 
tion of "Abe Lincoln "), and here I determined on having 
something to eat. Upon questioning a stalwart fellow who 
hung upon the coach while it was crossing Mud Creek, he 
declared, with emphasis, " It 's the last square meal you '11 
get on the road ! " My experience of a " square meal," 
therefore, is that it consists of strong black coffee, strips 
of pork fat fried to a sandy crispness, and half-baked, 
soggy, indigestible biscuits. For these I paid the square 
price of one dollar. 

The sun set, — there was no moon, — and our coach made 
toilsome progress over the muddy bottoms toward the Sol- 
omon's Fork. Mosquitoes began their attacks, and thence- 
forth worried us the whole night. About ten o'clock the 
driver commenced an imitation of the bark of the coyote, 
which, it appeared, was a distant signal of our approach to 
the ferryman at the Solomon Crossing. It was too indis- 
tinct to note anything but the dark masses of timber on 
either side, and the gleam of water between ; but from the 
length of time we occupied in crossing, I should judge that 
the stream is a hundred yards wide. The bottom-land 
along the Upper Solomon is said to be equal to any in 
Kansas, and emigration is fast pouring into it, as well as 
along the Republican and the Saline. 



20 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

I should not wonder if " The Great American Desert " 
should finally be pronounced a myth. In my school geog- 
raphies, it commenced at the western border of Missouri ; 
now, I believe, it is pushed some two hundred and fifty 
miles further west, leaving some of the finest agricultural 
land on the globe behind it. So far, I had found the re- 
verse of a desert ; I determined, therefore, to be on the 
lookout, and duly note its present point of commencement. 

What a weary drag we had that night over the deep mud 
between the Solomon and Saline Forks ! Either sleeping 
and stung to inflammation, or awake, weary, and smoking 
in desperate defence, two or three hours passed away, until 
the yelping and howling of the driver announced our ap- 
proach to the Saline. In the dark, this river appeared to 
be nearly equal in volume to the Solomon. Its water is so 
salt as sometimes to affect the taste of the Smoky Hill at 
Junction City. 

Nine miles more in the dark brought us to Salina, a vil- 
lage of two or three hundred inhabitants, and the end of 
settlement in this direction. Our driver kept us wait- 
ing two hours for a new bit for one of his bridles, and in 
this interval I snatched a little sleep. Of Salina I can- 
not say that I really saw anything, but I learned that it con- 
tains several stores and two physicians. The two or three 
houses near the tavern were shanties of frame or logs. 
Travellers west of Topeka are expected to sleep two in a 
bed, and several beds in a room. It was only through the 
courtesy of the landlord at Junction that I was exempted 
from this rule. In other respects customs are primitive, 
but not rough. People wash themselves more frequently 
than elsewhere (because it is more needed), and there is as 
much cleanliness in the cabins, all circumstances consid- 
ered, as in many hotels which I have seen. I even noticed 
one man in Kansas, who carried a tooth-brush in his 
pocket, which he pulled out now and then to give his teeth 
a dry brushing. 



UP THE SMOKY HILL FORK. 21 

On leaving Salina, the road strikes nearly due west across 
the rolling country, to cut off the great southern bend of 
the Smoky Hill. Two or three miles terminated the mud 
and mosquitoes ; we struck a dry, smooth road, a cool, deli- 
cious breeze, and great sweeps of green landscape, slowly 
brightening with the dawn. Distant bluffs and mounds 
broke the monotony of the horizon line, and the gradual, 
gentle undulations of the road were refreshing both to 
team and passengers. 

By six o'clock we reached Pritchard's, the next station, 
sixteen miles from Salina. Here there was a stable of 
rough stones and mud, and a cabin cut out of the steep 
bank, with a rude roof of logs and mud. I was surprised 
by the sight of a pretty little girl of seven, and on entering 
the cabin found a woman engaged in getting our breakfast. 
The walls and floor were the bare soil ; there was a bed or 
two, a table, two short benches for seats, and a colony of 
tame prairie-dogs in one corner. I asked the little girl if 
she would not like a companion to play with, but she an- 
swered, — "I think I have more fun with the horses and 
prairie-dogs ! " What a western woman she will make ! 

Water was furnished plentifully for our ablutions, break- 
fast resembled the " square meal " of the preceding even- 
ing, with the addition of canned peaches, and we resumed 
our seats with a great sense of refreshment. The air of 
this region seems to take away all sense of fatigue ; it is 
cool and bracing, even at mid-day. Soon after starting, 
we saw a coyote sneaking along a meadow on our left ; 
then a huge gray wolf, at which one of my fellow-passen- 
gers fired without effect. He trotted away with a disdain- 
ful air, stopping now and then to look at us. At the same 
time a rattlesnake gave an angry signal by the roadside. 
There was no longer a question that we were now beyond 
civilization. 

The limestone formation here gives place to a dark-red 
sandstone, which crops out of the ridges in rough, irregu- 



22 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

lar walls and towers. Although rising to no great height, 
they nevertheless form picturesque and suggestive features 
of the landscape : in the distance they might frequently be 
taken for buildings. 

The flora seems also to undergo a change. The grass 
was everywhere starred with large crimson anemones, a 
variety of the helianthus, with golden blossoms, a velvety 
flower of the richest brown and orange tints, white lark- 
spurs, and dark-blue spiderwort. For many a league the 
country was one vast natural garden of splendid bloom. 
There were places where a single flower had usurped pos- 
session of a quarter-acre of soil, and made a dazzling bed 
of its own color. I have seen nothing like it, save on the 
hills of Palestine, in May. 

After leaving Clear Creek, fourteen miles further, we 
approached the Smoky Hill. Two companies of the Second 
United States Cavalry were drawn up on the plain. Look- 
ing out, we beheld the encampment of Fort Ellsworth 
ahead of us. At present this is but a collection of tem- 
porary log barracks and stables, but the foundations of a 
permanent post have been laid on the rising ground, a lit- 
tle further from the river. We only stopped to deliver 
mails, but I had time for a brief interview with Lieuten- 
ant Lester, and a glass of excellent beer from a barrel in 
the sutler's quarters. General Palmer was inspecting the 
progress of the new fort, and I did not see him. Every- 
body — especially the private soldiers — was anxious to 
hear about the Fenian movement. 

There had been no Indian troubles on the road, but the 
officers seemed to anticipate trouble from the continued 
absence of Indians from the country. The old trappers 
consider that withdrawal of intercourse, on the part of the 
Indians, indicates preparations for an attack. The Smoky 
Hill route, I find, is regarded with a little uneasiness this 
year, on account of the troubles last fall. The traders and 
train-men from Santa Fe represent that the tribes of the 



UP THE SMOKY HILL FORK. 23 

Plains are not in an amiable mood ; and I confess I am 
therefore surprised that a thoroughfare so important as the 
Smoky Hill route is not more efficiently guarded. As far 
as I can learn, the difficulty seems rather to lie in the ex- 
istence of a mongrel band of outcasts from various tribes, 
half-breeds and a few whites, who are known, collectively, 
under the name of " Dog Indians." Most of the atrocities 
heretofore committed are charged upon this class, which 
ought to be extirpated at once. 

When we reached the station at Buffalo Creek, ten miles 
from Fort Ellsworth, the driver surprised me by saying: 
" Here 's where the attack happened, three weeks ago ! " 
I had heard of no attack, and was informed by the agents 
of the line that none had occurred. The account the driver 
gave was, that a band of forty (Pawnees, he supposed) 
had stopped the coach, attempted to upset it, and made 
various insolent demonstrations for a while. One passen- 
ger, who made a show of resistance, was knocked down 
with a club. " There was a Commodore aboard," said the 
driver ; " he was terribly scairt ; and a woman, and she was 
the coolest of 'em all." This band is supposed to be under 
the command of Bent, a half-breed, son of the famous old 
frontiersman. 

At the next station, Lost Creek (fifteen miles), we found 
a small detachment of soldiers posted. This looked threat- 
ening, but they assured us that everything was quiet. 
Thenceforth, indeed, we ceased to feel any anxiety ; for, en 
a ridge, two miles away, we saw our first buffalo, — a dozen 
dark specks on the boundless green. Before night small 
herds of them grew quite frequent, making their appear- 
ance near us on both sides of the road. They set off on a 
slow, lumbering gallop at our approach, their humps tossing 
up and down behind each other, with the regular movement 
of small waves. Several shots were fired from the coach, 
but only one took effect, wounding a huge bull in the shoul- 
der. It is this wanton killing of their game, simply in the 



24 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

way of amusement, which so exasperates the Indians. On 
the Smoky Hill bottoms, toward evening, we saw the larg- 
est herd, numbering some four or five hundred animals. 
The soldiers at Lost Creek had shot two or three the pre- 
vious day. They had a quarter hanging upon the stake, 
but the meat both looked and smelled so disagreeably that 
I had no desire to taste it. 

Antelopes and prairie-dogs also made their appearance 
in large numbers. The former were mostly single or in 
pairs, leaping nimbly along the elevations, or lifting their 
graceful heads in curiosity and watching us as we passed. 
The prairie-dogs sat upright at the doors of their under- 
ground habitations, and barked at us with a comical petu- 
lance. Toward evening their partners, the owls, came forth 
also to take the air. The rattlesnakes, I presume, were 
still in-doors, as we saw but two or three during the whole 
journey. 

After passing a small stream near Fossil Creek, the driver 
suddenly stopped the team and jumped down from his 
seat. He leaned over the water, started back, took courage 
again, and presently held up to view a turtle which would 
weigh twenty-five or thirty pounds. The creature kicked 
and snapped viciously, as he was suspended by the tail, nor 
was his odor very attractive ; but such a prospect for soup 
does not often arrive in this land of salt pork and indi- 
gestible biscuit ; so he was tumbled into the boot, and the 
cover strapped down over him. For several miles, we on 
the back seat could hear him scratching behind us, but 
when the boot was opened at Big Creek Station, lo ! no 
turtle was there. The driver's face was a picture of misery 
and disgust. 

As the cool, grateful twilight came down upon the bound- 
less swells of grass and flowers, I examined my sensations, 
and found that they were of pure, peaceful enjoyment in 
the new and beautiful world which I now beheld for the 
first time. The fatigue, so far, was trifling; the fear of 



UP THE SMOKY HILL FORK. 25 

Indians had disappeared ; the " square meals " had, some- 
how or other, managed to digest themselves ; and I heartily 
congratulated myself on having undertaken the journey. 

Here I leave you, one hundred and seventy-five miles 
west of Fort Riley, in the centre of what once was " The 
Great American Desert." 



IV. 



CROSSING THE PLAINS. 



Denver, C. T., June 18, 1866. 

At Fort Ellsworth I was informed that the military sta- 
tion between Fossil Creek and Big Creek had been dis- 
continued ; yet this is not the case. Toward sunset the 
driver handed me a mail-bag, asking me to pick out the 
letters for Fort Fletcher, the name given to this post ; and 
the assortment had scarcely been made, before the coach 
was surrounded by a crowd of soldiers (apparently new re- 
cruits) clamoring vociferously, first for tobacco and then 
for newspapers. It was difficult to decide which want was 
the keener. I gave them what cigars I had in my pocket, 
but was destitute of papers, and could only inform them 
that the Fenians had not yet taken Montreal. I felt no 
less disappointed than the poor fellows themselves, that I 
could not better supply their wants. 

My companions were no less interested than myself in 
the projected railroad routes to Colorado, and we therefore 
scanned the Smoky Hill Valley from every elevation, with 
regard to two considerations, — settlement and railroad ties. 
So far, everything was favorable. The Smoky Hill was 
everywhere marked by a line of timber, and we noticed 
that at each junction with its numerous affluents, there were 
large groves. The bluffs on the southern side were fre- 
quently covered, to their summits, with a growth of red 
cedar. All the bottom-land is exceedingly rich and well 
adapted for farming, while the broad, rolling uplands fur- 
nish the finest pasturage in the world. Near Big Creek, 



CROSSING THE PLAINS. 27 

coal has been found, and there are also rumors of tin and 
copper. With a sufficient force the road may be extended 
from Fort Riley to Big Creek in a year's time, and carry 
permanent settlement with it. 

At Big Creek Station, which we reached after dark, we 
took on board Mr. Scott, the Superintendent of the Middle 
Division of the road. There was still no moon, and, for- 
tunately, no mosquitoes also. The night was fresh, yet 
scarcely cool enough to require the blankets I had procured 
for the journey. Half-asleep and half-awake, now lulled 
into slumber by the slowness of our progress, now bumped 
into angry wakefulness in crossing some deep gully, we 
dragged through the night, and in the morning found our- 
selves at Downer's, forty-four miles further. Here an empty 
coach had just arrived from Denver, the third I had met 
going eastward without passengers. The Colorado people, 
it seems, are still afraid of this route. 

Our breakfast here was another " square meal," — pork 
fat and half-baked biscuits. At all the stations the people 
complained of lack of supplies ; some were destitute of 
everything but beans. They gave us what they had, and 
we were very willing to pay a dollar rather than go hungry ; 
but one would naturally expect that where a stage goes 
decent food can be transported. As there is but one change 
of teams at the stations, we were obliged to take the same 
mules which had just arrived from Cornell Springs, twenty 
miles further ; hence our progress was very slow and dis- 
couraging. On arriving there, a second tired team was 
harnessed to carry us thirty miles, to Monument Station ; 
so that we lost full four hours during this day's journey. * 

The driver of the down coach informed us that the 
Cheyennes had appeared at Monument Station the day 
before, but they had committed no depredations, and ap- 
peared to be friendly. The chief had even invited him, 
on account of his red hair, to join their tribe. Mr. Scott, 
however, who has had eight years' experience of the Iu- 



28 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

dians of the Plains, seemed to place little faith in their 
professions. They are reported to have declared that they 
must and will retain the Smoky Hill country, as it is the 
best range for game between the Missouri and the Kocky 
Mountains. 

From the first rise after leaving Downer's, we saw, far 
away to the right, a long range of chalk bluffs, shining 
against a background of dark blue cloud. They seemed 
like a stretch of the southern coast of England, breasting 
the rolling green ocean of the Plains. Over great swells, 
covered with the short, sweet buffalo-grass, and starred 
with patches of crimson anemone, pink verbena, unknown 
orange and salmon-red flowers, we drove for two hours, 
watching the isolated towers and fantastic masses of rock 
detach themselves from the line of the bluff. They 
assumed the strangest and most unexpected forms. Here 
was a feudal castle of the Middle Ages ; there a shattered, 
irregular obelisk, or broken pyramid ; and finally, rising 
alone from the level of a meadow, we beheld three perpen- 
dicular towers, eighty feet high, resting on a common base. 
Their crests were of a bright orange hue, fading downward 
into white. Beyond them extended the shattered battle- 
ments of a city, sparkling in the sunshine. The blue 
ridges beyond the Smoky Hill, ten miles away, formed the 
background of this remarkable picture. 

The green of the Plains here began to be varied with 
belts of dark purple, which we found to be what is called 
" bunch-grass," a very fine and wiry growth, but said to be 
excellent forage. At a distance it resembled the heather 
'bloom on the English moors. Over these brilliant green 
and purple tints, the snowy fortresses of chalk started up 
with a dazzling effect. There is not the least approach to 
monotony in the scenery of the Plains ; but continual, in- 
spiring change. 

We were to have another new experience that day. Our 
route, for some distance, lay over an elevated plateau, 



CROSSING THE PLAINS. 29 

around which, for an hour or two, dark thunder-clouds col- 
lected. Out of one of these dropped a curtain of rain, 
gray in the centre, but of an intense indigo hue at the 
edges. It slowly passed us on the north, split, from one 
minute to another, by streaks of vivid rose-colored light- 
ning, followed by deafening detonating peals ; when, just 
as we seemed to have escaped, it suddenly wheeled and 
burst upon us. 

It was like a white squall on a tropic sea. We had not 
lowered the canvas curtains of the coach before a dam gave 
way over our heads, and a torrent of mingled wind, rain, 
hail, and thunder overwhelmed us. The driver turned his 
mules as far as possible away from the wind, and stopped ; 
the coach rocked and reeled as if about to overturn ; the 
hail smote like volleys of musketry, and in less than fifteen 
minutes the whole plain lay four inches under water. I 
have never witnessed anything even approaching the vio- 
lence of this storm ; it was a marvel that the mules escaped 
with their lives. The bullets of hail were nearly as large 
as pigeons' eggs, and the lightning played around us like a 
succession of Bengal fires. We laid the rifles in the bot- 
tom of the coach, and for half an hour sat in silence, hold- 
ing down the curtain, and expecting every moment to be 
overturned. Then the tornado suddenly took breath, com- 
menced again twice or thrice, and ceased as unexpectedly 
as it came. 

For a short time the road was a swift stream, and the 
tufts of buffalo-grass rose out of an inundated plain, but 
the water soon found its level, and our journey was not 
delayed, as we had cause to fear. Presently Mr. Scott 
descried a huge rattlesnake, and we stopped the coach and 
jumped out. The rattles were too wet to give any sound, 
and the snake endeavored to escape. A German frontiers- 
man who was with us fired a revolver which stunned rather 
than wounded the reptile. Then, poising a knife, he threw 
it with such a secure aim that the snake's head was pinned 



30 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

to the earth. Cutting off the rattles, which I appropriated, 
we did him no further injury. 

The Monument Station is so called from a collection of 
quadrangular chalk towers, which rise directly from the 
plain. At first sight, they resemble a deserted city, with 
huge bastioned walls ; but on a nearer approach they sep- 
arate into detached masses, some of which suggest colossal 
sitting statues. It is almost impossible to divest one's 
mind of the impression that these are the remains of hu- 
man art. The station-house is built of large blocks, cut 
out with a hatchet and cemented with raw clay. Here we 
found stone-ware instead of pewter, although the viands 
were about as " square " as those at the preceding stations. 
The Indians had not again made their appearance. They 
professed to have a camp four or five miles further down 
the Smoky Hill, and I was a little disappointed that, after 
so many rumors and warnings, I was likely to get over the 
Plains without seeing a single redskin. 

During this day's journey we kept more away from the 
Smoky Hill, but we still saw, from time to time, its line of 
timber and cedared bluffs in the distance. Near Monu- 
ment Station we found it much diminished in volume, but 
with good, arable bottom-lands. Up to this point, two 
hundred and fifty miles west of Fort Riley, we could not 
detect the least impediment to the construction of a rail- 
road. Nor was there yet any indication of the Great 
American Desert. 

We had now shorter stations for some distance, and 
made the distance to Pond Creek, forty-six miles, by two 
o'clock in the morning. It was scarcely possible to sleep, 
and yet we were too much fatigued to keep entirely awake. 
I have an indistinct impression that there was a two-story 
frame house at Pond Creek, and that we were delayed 
there for an hour or two. I know that Mr. Scott informed 
us, as he took leave, that we were two hundred and twenty- 
five miles from Denver. At this point there is a new mili- 



CROSSING THE PLAINS. 31 

tary post, called Fort Wallace. Fort Lyon, on the Ar- 
kansas, is but forty-five miles distant, in a southwestern 
direction, and the road thence to Santa Fe about four hun- 
dred miles further. If the Eastern Branch of the Pacific 
Railroad should follow the Smoky Hill route (which is cer- 
tainly the shortest and most practicable), Pond Creek will 
probably become, for a while, the starting-point of New 
Mexican travel and traffic. 

We reached Willow Springs, eighteen miles, by sunrise. 
A forlorn place it was ! The station-men lived in holes 
cut in a high clay bank, and their mules had similar half- 
subterranean lodgings. I saw no provisions, and they said 
they could give us no breakfast. The team was speedily 
changed, and we set out for Cheyenne Wells, twenty-five 
miles distant, through a country more nearly approaching 
barrenness than any we had yet seen. The timber almost 
entirely disappeared ; the lateral streams ceased, and 
finally the Smoky Hill itself, now so near its source, be- 
came a bed of waterless sand. Still there was buffalo- 
grass everywhere, and the antelopes were very abundant. 
The fresh, delicious air of the Plains — only equalled by 
that of the African Desert — refreshed us after the weari- 
some night, and our appetites became keen with enforced 
fasting. 

At Cheyenne Wells we found a large and handsome frame 
stable for the mules, but no dwelling. The people lived in 
a natural cave, extending for some thirty feet under the 
bluff. But there was a woman, and when we saw her we 
augured good fortunes. Truly enough, under the roof of 
conglomerate limestone, in the cave's dim twilight, we sat 
down to antelope steak, tomatoes, bread, pickles, and pota- 
toes — a royal meal, after two days of detestable fare. 

Here we saw the last of Smoky Hill Fork. The road 
strikes across a broad plateau for twenty miles, and then 
descends to the Big Sandy, a branch of the Arkansas. It 
is a fine, hard, natural highway, over which we made good 



32 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

time. The country swarmed with antelopes, which pro- 
voked several shots from the coach, but without effect. 
Two of them, to our surprise, appeared to be pursuing a 
large gray wolf. They made boldly after it as often as 
it stopped, and were evidently bent on driving it quite 
away from their pasturage. While we were speculating on 
their movements, a lovely little fawn sprang up from the 
grass and made away over the hills. The old antelopes 
were evidently its parents, and their boldness in facing and 
intimidating the wolf was now explained. 

From the western edge of the water-shed, we overlooked 
many a league of brown, monotonous, treeless country, 
through which meandered, not the water, but the dry, 
sandy bed of the Big Sandy. We really seemed to have 
reached at last the Great American Desert. At the stage 
station we found two men living in a hole in the ground, 
with nothing but alkaline water to offer us. I tasted it, 
and finding the flavor not disagreeable, drank — which 
brought later woe upon me. Beyond this point even the 
buffalo-grass died out, and we rolled along in the burning 
sun and acrid dust, over dreary, gray undulations of weeds 
and cactus. At Grady's Station, eighteen miles further, 
there was but one man, a lonely troglodyte, burrowing in 
the bank like a cliff-swallow. 

Very soon, however, the grass began to appear again, 
the country became green, and the signs of desolation van- 
ished. A distance of forty miles embraced all we had 
seen of the Desert — in fact, all there is of it upon this 
route. In these forty miles a scattered settlement here 
and there is not impossible, but is very unlikely. The ad- 
joining country, for a hundred miles both to the east and 
west, is adapted to grazing, and will support a moderate 
population. The road, however, will soon be carried from 
Cheyenne Wells up the divide, entirely avoiding the Big 
Sandy. This new route, I am told, shortens the distance 
to Denver by twenty miles, and has good grass and water 
all the way. 



CROSSING THE PLAINS. 33 

Toward evening I was struck with a peculiar tint in the 
shadow of a cloud along the horizon. After half an hour's 
study, I pronounced it to be a mountain — and, of course, 
Pike's Peak. My fellow-travellers dissented at first from 
this opinion, but as the clouds dissolved, the outline of a 
snowy peak came out sharp and clear. It was something 
like that of the Jungfrau, but stood alone, surrounded by 
no sisterhood of Alps. At sunset we saw not only Pike's 
Peak, but the tops of the Sangre de Cristo range, and the 
Spanish Peaks, like little pimples on the line of the hori- 
zon. 

What a night followed ! The hard " hack " bumped and 
jolted over the rough roads ; we were flung backward and 
forward, right and left, pummelled, pounded, and bruised, 
not only out of sleep, but out of temper, and into pain and 
exasperation. At one o'clock yesterday morning we were 
at Hedinger's Lake, ninety-seven miles from Denver. I 
thanked Heaven that no fifth night in the coach awaited 
me. The hours dragged on with incredible slowness, until 
dawn brought some refreshment, showing us a country of 
high hills, occasional pine groves, and far-flashing snowy 
mountains. 

Before sunset we drove into Denver; but of the last 
day's ride to-morrow ! 



THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS AND DENVER. 

Denver, C T., June 19, 1866. 

From Hedinger's Lake to Denver a new cut-off has re- 
cently been made, shortening the distance about twenty 
miles. Ours was the last coach which passed over the old 
road, the stations and stock being taken up behind us, and 
transferred across the country to their new positions. The 
road from Cheyenne Wells to Denver is thus abridged by 
forty miles, making the entire distance from Fort Riley to 
the latter place four hundred and sixty miles. When the 
stations are shortened to an average of ten or twelve miles, 
and the road as well stocked as it should be, the trip can 
easily be made in three days. By that time, the trains on 
the Pacific Railroad will be running to Fort Riley, and 
twenty-four hours more will bring the traveller to St. 
Louis. 

I will not recapitulate our bruises during the night, but 
rather pass at once to the sparkling morning which broke 
upon us while crossing the divide between the Big Sandy 
and the first tributary of the Platte. In the foreground 
stretched a range of green, grassy hills, clotted with pastur- 
ing antelope, and crested with scattered groves of pine; 
high above and far beyond them towered the keen, shining 
wedges of the Rocky Mountains. Pike's Peak in the south 
was apparently near at hand, although seventy miles dis- 
tant. Long's Peak, in the northwest, resembled an Alpine 
horn in its sharp, abrupt outline ; and between these two 
furthest outposts of the snowy range arose many a name- 



THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS AND DENVER. 35 

less yet beautiful summit. The character of the scenery 
had completely changed since the preceding sunset. I was 
charmed out of all sense of fatigue, all feeling of discom- 
fort, except that of hunger. 

At Reed's Springs we obtained our last " square meal," 
with the inevitable bacon, for a dollar and a half. Thence- 
forth our road led over the high divides between the Beaver, 
Bijou, and Kiowa Creeks, all of which flow northward to 
the Platte. The country is grandly adapted to grazing, 
and all the bottom-lands are capable of being farmed. The 
pine along the ridges is of but moderate growth, but it 
will, no doubt, become better and more abundant with pro- 
tection. A new flora here met us. The cactus, with its 
showy crimson and golden blossoms, became scarce. I 
found a splendid euckroma, with a spike of pure flame- 
color; great quantities of a wild vetch, with pink blossoms; 
and a thick growth of purple lupins. The grass was quite 
different from that on the plains, and many portions of 
these hills would furnish large quantities of wild hay. At 
some of the stations along the Smoky Hill, the men have 
mowing-machines, with which they harvest a full winter 
supply for their stock. 

The view of the Rocky Mountains from the divide near 
Kiowa Creek is considered one of the finest in Colorado. 
From the breezy ridge, between scattered groups of pine, 
you look upon one hundred and fifty miles of the snowy 
range, from the Sangre de Cristo to the spurs away toward 
Laramie. In variety and harmony of form, in effect against 
the dark-blue sky, in breadth and grandeur, I know no ex- 
ternal picture of the Alps which can be placed beside it. 
If you could take away the valley of the Rhone, and unite 
the Alps of Savoy with the Bernese Overland, you might 
obtain a tolerable idea of this view of the Rocky Moun- 
tains. Tike's Teak would then represent the .lungfrau : a 
nameless snowy giant in front of you, Monte Rosa : and 
Long's Peak. Mont Blanc. The altitudes very nearly cor- 



36 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

respond, and there is a certain similarity in the forms. The 
average height of the Rocky Mountains, however, surpasses 
that of the Alps. 

Mid-day was intensely sultry, with the first dust we had 
experienced. We took a hasty dinner at Running Creek, 
and then made our slow way, with poor horses, across the 
ridges to Cherry Creek, which we struck about fifteen miles 
above Denver. Up to this point we had found no settle- 
ment, except two or three grazing ranches. The ride down 
Cherry Creek, through sand and dust, on the banks of the 
muddy stream, was the most tiresome part of the overland 
journey. Mile after mile went slowly by, and still there 
was no sign of cultivation. At last, four miles from the 
town, we reached a neat little tavern, beside which grew 
some cotton-woods. Here there w r ere two or three ranches 
in the process of establishment. The water from the wells 
was very sweet and cold. 

Our next sign of life was the evidence of death, — the 
unfenced cemetery of Denver, on the top of the ridge. I 
looked out ahead, from time to time, but could see neither 
horse, tree, fence, or other sign of habitation. My fellow- 
passengers had been loud in their praises of the place, and 
I therefore said nothing. Suddenly I perceived, through 
the dust, a stately square Gothic tower, and rubbed my eyes 
wdth a sense of incredulity. It was really true ; there was 
the tower, built of brick, well-proportioned and picturesque. 
Dwellings and cottages rose over the dip of the ridge, on 
either side ; brick blocks began to appear, and presently 
we were rolling through gay, animated streets, down the 
vistas of which the snowy ranges in the west were shining 
fairly in the setting sun. The coach drew up at the Pacific 
Hotel, where I found a hearty welcome and good quarters, 
and in just four days and six hours from Fort Riley I sat 
down, not to a " square meal," but to an excellent supper. 

The two days which have since elapsed have given me a 
good superficial acquaintance with the place. First, let me 



THE EOCKY MOUNTAINS AND DENVER. 37 

say that the views which have appeared in the illustrated 
papers are simply caricatures. Instead of being a cluster of 
houses on a flat plain, with a range of clumsy mountains in 
the distance, and Pike's Peak standing alone in the centre 
thereof, it is built upon a gradual slope, rising eastward 
from the junction of Cherry Creek with the Platte. It is 
as well built as any town of equal size in the Mississippi 
Valley. The Methodist Church and Seminary, the banks 
and principal business houses, solidly constructed of brick 
(the former edifice with considerable architectural beauty), 
give the place an air of permanence, very surprising to one 
who has just arrived from the East. Beyond the Platte 
the land rises with a gentle, gradual slope, to the base of 
the Rocky Mountains, twelve miles distant, and there is no 
part of the town which does not afford a view of the great 
range. Long's Peak, more than 15,000 feet in height, just 
fills the vista of the principal business street. Pike's Peak 
is far to the left, overlooking the head of the Cherry Creek 
Valley ; consequently, a view of Denver, in which it is 
made the prominent feature, does not correctly represent 
the place. 

Although business of all kinds is extraordinarily dull at 
present, and the people are therefore as much dispirited as 
Colorado nature will admit, Denver seems to me to have a 
very brisk and lively air. A number of substantial build- 
ings are going up, there is constant movement in the streets, 
the hotels are crowded, and the people one meets are brim- 
ful of cheerful energy. The stores and warehouses are 
thoroughly stocked, and prices are lower than one would 
expect, considering the tedious and expensive land trans- 
portation. At the Pacific Hotel you pay four dollars per 
day. — no more than in New fork, and have an equally 
good table. There may not be such an excessive bill of 
fare, but I could distinguish no difference in the cooking. 
Vegetables in the market are plenty and cheap, and appear 

to be of remarkably line quality. 



38 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

The dryness of the climate and occasional extremes of 
cold in winter, appear to me to be the principal drawbacks. 
Near the mouth of Cherry Creek there is a grove of ven- 
erable cotton-woods, and perhaps a dozen other specimens 
are dispersed singly through the lower part of the town. 
Attempts are now being made to colonize this tree — which 
makes a green spot, ugly though it be — around the houses 
in the higher streets, and with a fair prospect of success. 
The milk, cream, and butter from the adjoining farms are 
better than they are in most of the "Western States. Veni- 
son and antelope are abundant, and canned fruits supply 
the want of fresh. 

The situation of Denver is well selected. Were it nearer 
to the mountains, it would furnish a more convenient depot 
of supplies for the Clear Creek mining region, but it would 
not concentrate, as now, so many radiating lines of travel. 
It lies, apparently, in the centre of the chord of a shallow 
arc of the mountains, governing the entrances of some half- 
a-dozen different canons, and overlooking a belt of farming 
land, fifty miles by ten in dimensions. 

Its prosperity, of course, depends on the activity of min- 
ing operations in the mountains. There is at present a 
stagnation, occasioned principally by the enormous price 
of labor. Although the new methods of reduction promise 
a much greater production of the precious metals, and fresh 
discoveries of gold, silver, copper, and lead are being made 
every day, wages are so high that many companies have 
been forced to suspend business until the agricultural sup- 
plies at home, and the gradual approach of the Pacific 
Railroad, shall have brought prices down. 

I should estimate the population of Denver at about six 
thousand. Probably no town in the country ever grew up 
under such discouraging circumstances, or has made more 
solid progress in the same length of time. It was once 
swept away by the inundation of Cherry Creek ; once or 
twice burned ; threatened with Secession ; cut off from in- 



THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS AND DENVER. 39 

tercourse with the East by Indian outbreaks ; deprived of 
a great portion of its anticipated trade by our war ; made 
to pay outrageously for its materials and supplies — and all 
this within seven years ! 

I was interested in noticing how attached the inhabitants 
are to the place. Nearly every one who had recently been 
East seemed rejoiced to return. Even ladies forget the 
greater luxuries and refinements of the Atlantic coast, "when 
they see the Rocky Mountains once more. The people look 
upon this glorious Alpine view as one of the properties of 
the town. Every street opens (in one direction, at least) 
upon it; and the evening drives along the Platte or over the 
flowering ridges, become as beautiful as any in the world, 
when the long line of snowy peaks flash down a brighter 
gold than ever was unpacked from their veins. 

There are no manufactories as yet, except a brick-yard 
and two flour-mills — the latter driven by water-power. A 
good gray building stone is found about four miles off. The 
timber is all brought from the mountains, which, I fear, are 
in a fair way to become disforested. Coal, however, is com- 
ing into general use as fuel, several mines having already 
been opened in the neighborhood. It resembles the brown 
coal of Germany, burns freely, and is said to produce a 
great amount of gas. General Pierce, the Surveyor-Gen- 
eral, considers the coal-bed of the Rocky Mountains one 
of the largest in the world. Along the Smoky Hill there 
are indications of an uninterrupted supply all the way to 
Kansas. 

I find myself constantly returning to the point which my 
eyes seek, with unwearied interest, whenever I lift them 
from the paper. Ever since my arrival I have been study- 
ing the mountains. Their beauty and grandeur grow upon 
me with every hour of my stay. None of the illustrations 
accompanying the reports of exploration, and other Gov- 
ernment documents, give any distinct idea of their variety 
and harmony of forms. Nowhere distorted or grotesque 



40 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

in outline, never monotonous, lovely in color and atmos- 
pheric effect, I may recall some mountain chains which 
equal, but none which surpass them. From this point 
there appears to be three tolerably distinct ranges. The 
first rises from two to three thousand feet above the level 
of the Plains ; it is cloven asunder by the canons of the 
streams, streaked with dark lines of pine, which feather 
its summits, and sunny with steep slopes of pasture. Some 
distance behind it appears a second range of nearly double 
the height, more irregular in its masses, and of a dark, 
velvety, violet hue. Beyond, leaning against the sky, are 
the snowy peaks, nearly all of which are from thirteen to 
fifteen thousand feet above the sea. These three chains, 
with their varying but never discordant undulations, are as 
inspiring to the imagination as they are enchanting to the 
eye. They hint of concealed grandeurs in all the glens 
and parks among them, and yet hold you back with a doubt 
whether they can be more beautiful near at hand than when 
beheld at this distance. 

To-morrow I shall move nearer their bases. 



VI. 



FARMING IN COLORADO. 



Golden City, C. T., June 21, 1866. 

I verily think that if those who six years ago saw noth- 
ing but arid hills and fields of cactus, forbidding cultiva- 
tion, could behold some parts of Colorado at present, they 
would open their eyes in astonishment. My approach to 
Denver did not furnish the least suggestion of farming, and 
all the attempts which one sees from the city are a few 
patches of vegetables along the Platte. But the agricultu- 
ral interest, without which a mining community so remote 
as this cannot subsist, has really reached a development 
which is remarkable, when we consider the discouragements 
to which it has been subjected. 

I am fast inclining toward the opinion that there is no 
American Desert on this side of the Kocky Mountains. 
Belts of arid and sandy soil there certainly are, but I doubt 
if any of these are more than fifty miles in breadth, while 
there are many points where an unbroken line of habitable 
territory may be followed from the Missouri to the base of 
the mountains. I remember that as late as 1859, the low- 
est computation of the extent of the Desert was two hun- 
dred miles; yet in the Smoky Hill route I saw less than 
fifty miles to which the term could properly be applied. 
What I have since learned of farming under these new 
conditions of climate and soil, leads me to suspect that time 
and settlement may subdue even this narrow belt; that 
there may some day be groves and farms on the treeless 
plains ; that wheat may usurp the place of buffalo-grass, and 
potatoes drive out the cactus. 



42 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

It almost seems as if Nature were in the habit of making 
a last desperate attempt to resist the subjugation of her 
wild, unploughed domains. For a few years the settlers are 
obliged to battle with a combination of hostile influences. 
The droughts of Kansas, and the grasshoppers of Utah and 
Colorado are exceptional agents, which have given a false 
impression in other parts of the Union. I found Kansas, 
as you may have noted, a land of rain, of soggy meadows, 
and swollen streams ; I find Colorado, where farming was 
pronounced almost hopeless, already crossed by zones of 
the richest agricultural promise. The effect of energy and 
industry upon the soil even now shows its fruits ; the effect 
of cultivation upon climate {an agency generally under- 
estimated) is yet to follow. 

Two days ago Captain Sopris took me out to his farm on 
Clear Creek, about five miles from Denver. Crossing the 
new and substantial plank bridge over the Platte, we first 
glanced at the adjoining vegetable garden. I must con- 
fess, however, that I saw more sunflowers than anything 
else. Only a part of the garden appeared to be cultivated ; 
the soil was black and deep, and with proper care there 
would be but little limit to its productiveness. The profu- 
sion of sunflowers — not an indigenous growth, I believe — 
is remarkable. From Fort Riley to the Rocky Mountains, 
w r herever a wagon has made a rut in the soil, there springs 
up a rank hedge of the plant. The pig-weed, horse-weed, 
and datura stramonium are also rapidly advancing westward. 
I found them some distance this side of Fort Ellsworth. 

Rising to what are called "the second bottoms," a 
gently inclined shelf, extending from the mountains to the 
Platte, we had a view down the river, and saw the first in- 
dications of farming. Near at hand was a farm of three 
hundred and twenty acres, the owner of which is inclosing • 
the whole with a high post-fence, at a cost of about two 
dollars and a half per rod. A neat cottage farm-house, at 
the commencement of the river-bottoms, pleasantly hinted 



FARMING IN COLORADO. 43 

of permanent occupation. Beyond this farm, still mostly 
in the rough, stretched a succession of dark-green fields of 
wheat, on both sides of the stream, which, divided into 
many arms, sparkled between its islands and banks of cot- 
ton-wood. The rising grounds were already beginning to 
grow tawny under the summer sun, and these low-lying 
belts of grain and trees made a dazzling contrast of color. 
For some miles down the Platte I could trace a continuous 
line of farms and preemption cabins. 

The undulating higher ground across which we struck 
in a straight line, toward Clear Creek, was covered with 
grass, lupins, a multitude of brilliant flowering-plants, and 
cactus. Dry as it appears, it furnishes good pasturage 
during the whole year, and irrigation will convert the whole 
of it into grain-fields. I remember that my admiration of 
the agricultural capacities of California, in 1840, subjected 
me to many derogatory epithets ; hence, one who crosses 
these brown plains at the end of summer, may laugh in- 
credulously when I say that all the country between the 
river and the mountains — every upland and ridge where 
water can be made to flow — will in time be as rich a fann- 
ing region as any in the East. The capacity of soil to hold 
moisture will increase ; trees will then grow where it would 
now be hopeless to plant them ; hedges will take the place 
of costly fences, and the character of the country will un- 
dergo a complete change. 

Captain Sopris's ranche is on a bluff overlooking the val- 
ley of Clear Creek. From the window of his parlor I 
looked out upon several miles of beautiful wheat, a long 
pasture-ridge beyond, and the grand summit of Long's Peak 
in the distance. Ten farmers lure have united their forces, 
and math' a ditch ten miles in length, by which their fields 
are irrigated. The usual yield of wheat, under this system, 
is thirty bushels to the acre, and the price, up to this time, 
has ranged from live to twenty-five cents per pound. You 
can see that farming, even at the lowest rates, is a good 



44 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

business in Colorado Oats produce about forty, and corn 
fifty bushels to the acre, — the price ranging from two to five 
dollars per bushel. 

It is remarkable how soon the farmers have adapted 
themselves to the new conditions of their occupation. They 
seem already to prefer the secure yield which irrigation 
offers, to the uncertain prospects of a more variable cli- 
mate. The principal labor and expense is the construction 
of the irrigating canal ; that once made, it is an easy mat- 
ter to watch and flood their fields whenever necessary. 
This season it has not yet been generally needed ; but 
from now until the end of July, when the wheat ripens, 
the process must be frequently repeated. Against the 
plague of grasshoppers there is no protection ; this year, 
however, promises to be free from that scourge. 

The vegetables in the garden at the foot of the bluff 
were thriving finely. But out of three hundred grape-vines 
which Captain S. has imported, only a dozen are now liv- 
ing. Although the winters are remarkably mild, there are 
now and then days of such extreme cold that vines and 
fruit-trees of all kinds perish. If the young trees were pro- 
cured from Minnesota rather than nurseries further south, 
they would probably be more likely to endure the climate. 
Thus far the attempts at fruit-growing have been failures ; 
yet the fact that at Salt Lake, much further to the north, 
there has been perfect success, should encourage the Col- 
orado farmers to try again. 

After dining with the Captain and his amiable family, 
we returned by a road skirting Clear Creek to Fisher's 
Ranche, where I saw six hundred acres of grain in one 
body. The entire number of acres planted in the Territory 
this year is estimated at seventy thousand — which will 
supply the wants of the entire population. The more san- 
guine expect to send a small surplus to Montana. This is 
really an astonishing fact. In a Territory only seven years 
old, six hundred miles from other settlements, which attracts 



FARMING IN COLORADO. 45 

principally a mining and speculating population, and was 
supposed to have the most limited capacity for agriculture, 
the people are already independent, self-sustaining, in re- 
gard to food ! 

My friend, Mr. D. T. Smith, piloted me around the im- 
mediate neighborhood of Denver, and gave me further 
opportunities for strengthening the views which my trip 
to Clear Creek had suggested. I saw that the country to 
the east of Cherry Creek and the Platte is quite as fertile 
as that to the westward, and could easily credit the asser- 
tion of General Pierce that the supply of water is sufficient, 
with an adequate irrigating canal, to bring under cultiva- 
tion four hundred thousand acres of land. I have no doubt 
it will be found true of all parts of the Plains, that wher- 
ever water can be had, farming will be profitable. Even 
where there are no running streams, wells with water- 
wheels driven by wind, as in California, may supply their 
place. An old frontiersman assured me that wherever 
there is a town of prairie-dogs, water will be found at a 
depth of from twenty to thirty feet. Now, in my memory, 
the road from Fort Ellsworth to the Platte is one grand 
prairie dog metropolis ; so there ought to be no scarcity of 
water. In Kansas, living springs are making their appear- 
ance, as the country becomes cultivated. Nature, after 
vainly attempting to drive off Man, makes up her mind to 
reward his persistence. Perhaps I dwell a little pertina- 
ciously upon this one point ; but, the truth is, I have never 
been more astonished than on finding this vast central 
region so very different from what previous accounts had 
led me to imagine. 

A private company is now at work, constructing a large 
ditch, which is to water the streets and gardens of Denver. 
This will give the place the one charm it now lacks. Add 
verdure to its superb situation, and it will be one of the 
most delightful inland cities in the country. There is at 
present a small stream, the water of which is chiefly applied 



46 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

to the encouragement of young cotton- woods, both poplar 
and willow-leaved, which are set out so thickly around some 
houses that the owners evidently do not expect the half of 
them to grow. Some of the trees were flourishing vigor- 
ously, with a good prospect of life ; others, although irri- 
gated, were withered and dying. The difference, no doubt, 
lay in the care with which they had been transplanted. 

This morning I left Denver for my mountain tour. As 
far as this place, at the base of the first range, — a distance 
of about fifteen miles, — the country is rapidly coming 
under cultivation. Ditches are being carried from Clear 
Creek over all parts of the undulating slope stretching 
down from the mountains, and it was a cheering sight to 
find a large field of the greenest wheat upon one of the 
highest points, in the midst of a plain studded with cactus. 
A short distance from Denver, one of the ditches has been 
turned into a natural basin a mile in diameter, forming a 
lake of that extent, around which large herds of cattle 
were grazing. We found a number of men at work, con- 
structing new ditches by a very simple process. Several 
furrows are first ploughed, and then the dirt is shovelled 
out rapidly by a broad frame of timber, drawn by horses 
in a lateral direction. Our course was sometimes im- 
peded by the number of these ditches, which are not yet 
bridged, especially in descending toward Clear Creek, 
which we struck three miles below the point where it is- 
sues from the mountains. 

Here we were favored by an invitation to visit the farm 
of Mr. Miles, and try the flavor of Colorado strawberries. 
This gentleman, I learn, sold his last year's wheat crop at 
eighteen cents the pound (ten dollars and eighty cents per 
bushel), and is now selling his entire stock of strawberries 
at ninety-six dollars a bushel ! The severe winter two or 
three years ago destroyed almost his entire stock of plants, 
but the few he saved are now richly repaying him for the 
loss. 



FARMING IN COLORADO. 47 

Mr. Miles was not at home, but his wife welcomed us to 
their neat cottage of concrete, which, with the barn, sta- 
bles, and haystacks, already wore an air of old settlement. 
The garden, though still in the rough, was very luxuriant. 
The strawberries (Albany Seedlings) seemed to me of 
smaller size, but of finer flavor than in the East. With the 
golden cream which our friendly hostess furnished, we could 
not have asked for anything more delicious. Around the 
house the lupin, coreopsis, larkspur, and sweet-pea were 
growing wild. 

I here noticed a new, and to me a surprising, result of 
cultivation. Part of the bottom-land was originally alka- 
line, the white streaks being still discernible ; yet the crops 
growing upon it were, if anything, more luxuriant than else- 
where. Captain West, my companion to Golden City, in- 
formed me that upon his own ranche an alkaline patch, 
bare of vegetation, has now become the best part of his 
garden. The use of manure is said to neutralize the alkali 
in a very short space of time. 

Before us rose the curious elevation known as the Table 
Mountain. As seen from Denver it resembles a slice of 
cheese lying on its side, and with a crack through the mid- 
dle. Immediately behind it is the first range of the Rocky 
Mountains, and this apparent crack is the canon through 
which Clear Creek makes its way. On approaching nearer, 
the straight, slanting summit breaks into a very irregular 
outline, with bold, rocky buttresses and deep indentations. 
The top, on both sides of the Creek, is a mesa, or table- 
land, which furnishes superb pasturage for cattle through- 
out the entire year. A small lake supplies the herds with 
water, and the grass, however parched in autumn or dry in 
winter, never seems to lose its fattening properties. 

A drive of about two miles through the gorge between 
the two parts of Table Mountain, Brought us to the beau- 
tiful little circular valley in which Golden City lies hidden. 
Just above the place is the present limit of tannin--. The 



48 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

carion of Clear Creek is walled in by steep, forbidding 
mountains, but there is pasturage on all the heights. Each 
one of the Creeks which issue from the mountains to join 
the Platte, is attracting a farming population. On Bear 
Creek, to the south, and the branches of Boulder Creek, 
to the north, I hear there are already many fine farms. 

If a new system of agriculture has been learned, and 
such results attained within six years, is it too much to 
assert that the farming interests of Colorado will keep pace 
with the development of her extraordinary mineral wealth, 
and that, no matter what amount of population may here- 
after be attracted to her mountains, her plains are capable 
of feeding them ? 



vn. 

ENTERING THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 

Central City, June 23, 1866. 

Golden City enjoys the distinction of being the capital 
of Colorado Territory. That is, the Legislature regularly 
meets there, but adjourns to Denver before transacting any 
other business. The population is not more than three 
or four hundred, and the place has a quiet and rather for- 
lorn appearance at present. It possesses, nevertheless, 
several substantial stores, a school-house, two flour-mills 
(Clear Creek furnishing excellent water-power), and a 
manufactory of fire-brick. From this time forward it 
will rise in importance. 

The discovery of coal is of scarcely less consequence to 
this region than that of gold and silver. Along the east- 
ern base of the range, brown coal of excellent quality has 
been found for a distance of three hundred miles, and the 
indications continue through Montana. I saw, forty miles 
east of Denver, among the Platte Hills, a bold out-crop of 
coal, projecting two or three feet above the earth. Further 
in the mountain, the Albertine, or oil-bearing coal, yielding 
one hundred and four gallons to the ton, has been discov- 
ered. The supply of fuel for the Pacific Railroad, and for 
all smelting and manufacturing purposes, is therefore as- 
sured for centuries to come. 

I visited the veins of fire-clay and coal, which are found 
in conjunction, within half a mile of Golden City. The 
clay is found in large beds of a chocolate color and greasy 
texture. Two horizontal shafts have been opened into the 



50 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

side of the hill, and the carts are loaded directly at their 
mouths. The clay is first burned, then ground, after which 
it is moulded and pressed into the requisite forms. Although 
the business is in its very commencement, enough has been 
done to assure its entire success. The proprietors have 
already commenced the manufacture of tiles for roofing, 
which, I suspect, will ere long come into general use. 

The coal, commencing at the surface with a streak of 
" color " (as the miners say of gold), broadens so rapidly 
that at the depth of twenty-five feet I found a vertical stra- 
tum fourteen feet in breadth. If it continues to increase 
at the same rate for one hundred feet further, the immense 
supply may easily be imagined. This Rocky Mountain 
coal, I understand, is always found in vertical seams, while 
the bituminous coal along the Smoky Hill Fork is disposed 
in horizontal strata. The valley of the Platte, after leaving 
the rolling country at the base of the mountains, appears 
to lie between the two formations. The examination, how- 
ever, is so superficial, that nothing very positive can yet be 
asserted. Coal is beginning to be found abundantly in 
Southern Kansas, and it is possible that the gaps between 
the beds already discovered may yet be filled up. 

Standing on this great bed of coal and fire-clay, at Golden 
City, I looked eastward across the creek, and saw a ridge 
of limestone rock, and the indications of a quarry which 
has just been opened. My companions pointed out to me 
the location of beds of the finest iron ore, all within the 
radius of a mile. The iron is said to be of unusually fine 
quality. Mr. Loveland of this place has proposed to erect 
a rolling-mill, and manufacture rails for the Pacific Com- 
pany, enabling them to commence the road eastward from 
the base of the mountains, to meet the branches starting 
from Omaha and Wyandotte. Considering that all the 
requisite heavy machinery must be freighted across from 
the Missouri River, this would seem, at first sight, to be a 
hazardous enterprise ; but, on the other hand, the saving in 



ENTERING THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 51 

the cost of transporting rails for the road would be so im- 
mense, that I cannot pronounce the plan unreasonable. It 
is quite certain that all the rails for the central division of 
the road must be manufactured here and in Nevada. 

There will, in time, be a railroad from the mining regions 
on the upper waters of Clear Creek to Golden City ; and 
many of the companies will then find it to their advantage 
to establish their smelting works at the latter place. Let 
no one be deceived by present indications. The quiet of 
Golden City will not endure much longer ; and the day 
may not be far off when the smokes from its tall chimneys, 
rising up behind Table Mountain, will be seen at Denver. 
I only wish that the vulgar, snobbish custom of attaching 
" City " to every place of more than three houses, could be 
stopped. From Illinois to California it has become a gen- 
eral nuisance, telling only of swagger and want of taste, 
not of growth. Why not call it " Goldenport " (as it will 
become a sort of harbor to which the ores will be shipped), 
or any other simple name ? In the Russian language two 
unnecessary accents usurp one seventh of the typography ; 
and in Colorado, if one talks much about the mining towns, 
he must add one seventh to his speech in repeating the 
useless word " City." 

The age of law and order has not yet arrived. The peo- 
ple pointed out to me a tree, to which some of them had 
hung a Mexican, last week, on account of an attempted 
assault upon two ladies of the place. The criminal was 
taken from the sheriff's hands and lynched ; and the few 
remaining Mexican residents, who appear to have had no 
fellowship witli him, are ordered to leave the place. Affairs 
of this kind make an unpleasant impression. The impro- 
vised code of a new settlement is no longer necessary here, 
and it seems to exist by virtue of a lingering taste for rude 
and violent justice. 

1 found simple but clean quarters, and an excellent table, 
at Cheney's Hotel ; addressed a limited audience in the even- 



52 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

ing, and took the coach for this place yesterday morning, at 
ten o'clock. The new road, following Clear Creek canon, 
has been made impassable by floods ; and the old road, some 
miles further eastward, is now used. It pierces the first 
range of the Rocky Mountains by the canon of a small 
stream, at the mouth whereof are four or five log-houses, 
styled Gate City ! The defile is very narrow, abrupt, and 
with such sudden turns that for a space the road seems 
every moment to come to a sudden termination. Huge 
masses of dark red and purple rock topple on either side ; 
there is little timber to be seen, but a profusion of wild 
gooseberries and currants, and a bush resembling the 
broom. The bed of the brook is crowded with young cot- 
ton-woods and box-elders, in the shade of which new vari- 
eties of wild flowers grow luxuriantly. I hailed the Alpine 
harebell as an old friend, and inhaled the delicious per- 
fume blown from clumps of mountain roses. The wild 
hop-vine was very abundant, spreading its arms over the 
rock, in lieu of other supports. 

After two or three miles the pass became broader and 
straighter, and we could look up to the crest of the moun- 
tains. It was dismal to see how much of the pine forests, 
with which the steeps were clothed, have been wantonly 
or carelessly destroyed by fire. The rock now appeared to 
be a kind of gneiss, gray, with pale orange oxydations, 
which gave the scenery something of the character of the 
Apennines. I did not find, as I expected, much vegetation. 
The dry soil, the bare masses of rock, the dusty road, and 
the hot, cloudless sky overhead, all suggested Southern 
Europe, rather than Switzerland or our mountain regions 
of the East. 

We followed this canon for some eight or ten miles, oc- 
casionally passing a saw-mill, or tavern-ranche, patronized 
by the freighters. Then we reached Guy's Hill, where the 
road crosses the divide, and we were requested by the 
driver to climb to the summit on foot. It was but half a 



ENTERING THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 53 

mile of rather breathless walking in the thin air, and we 
stood upon a narrow crest, overlooking a deep, pine-clad 
valley in the heart of the mountains. The dark summits 
of the second range rose against the sky, and only one 
small snowy peak was visible. Here the forests, although 
neither large nor dense, were still untouched, and multi- 
tudes of silvery aspens were mingled with the pines. 

The descent looked dangerously steep ; but our driver, 
with locked wheels, went down on a trot, passing two ox- 
teams with wonderful skill. The valley we now entered 
was greener and fresher than the first, and with a tolera- 
bly level bottom, along which we bowled to the Michigan 
House, where dinner awaited us, — an excellent meal, at 
one dollar and fifty cents. The water was unsurpassed in 
coolness and agreeable flavor. 

The road now gradually swerved to the left, rising to 
another divide, whence the splendors of the snowy range 
burst upon us. Broad wedges of rock and snow, soaring 
to a height of fourteen thousand feet, glittered in the clear 
sky, apparently close at hand, although they were still 
fifteen miles distant. Our own elevation above the sea 
could not have been less than eight thousand feet. The 
air was thin, but wonderfully cool, pure, and transparent. 
The only thing the scene lacked was fresh mountain turf, 
— a feature which I have not yet found. 

We descended from this crest into a deep glen, the sides 
of which were better wooded. Here and there we passed 
a grazing-ranche or saw-mill, and the road was filled with 
heavy freight teams. Two miles of rapid descent, and we 
suddenly emerged upon the canon of North Clear Creek. 
Here commenced, at once, the indications of mining. The 
precipitous sides of the cafion were freckled with the holes 
and dirt-piles of experimental shafts; the swift waters of the 
stream had the hue of " tailings;" and presently the smoke 
from the smelting works of the Lyons Company began to 
cloud the pure mountain air. 



54 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

Beyond this point, which is already thickly studded with 
houses, and is called Lyonsville, a sudden turn in the road 
discloses a view of Black Hawk, with its charming church 
perched above the town, on the extremity of the headland 
which separates Gregory Gulch from that of Clear Creek. 
We at once entered a busy, noisy, thickly populated region. 
The puff of steam, the dull thump of the stamp-mills, and 
all the other sounds. of machinery at work, filled the air; 
the road became a continuous street, with its hotels, stores, 
livery stables, and crowded dwelling-houses. 

Turning into Gregory Gulch, we slowly mounted through 
Black Hawk and Mountain City to this place ; but all three 
places form in reality one continuous town, more than two 
miles long, and with over six thousand inhabitants. The 
houses are jammed into the narrow bed of the canon, em- 
ploying all sorts of fantastic expedients to find room and 
support themselves. Under them a filthy stream falls down 
the defile over a succession of dams. It is a wonderfully 
curious and original place, strongly resembling Guanajuato 
in its position and surroundings. 



vin. 

CENTRAL CITY AND BLACK HAWK. 

Central City, Colorado, June 25, 1866. 

This place and the adjoining towns of Black Hawk and 
Nevada are so buried in the wrinkles and crevices of what 
I have termed the second range of the Rocky Mountains, 
that I could not fully comprehend their position until last 
evening, when I went upon the point called Bates Hill, 
which divides Gregory Gulch from the valley of North 
Clear Creek. On that station, the maze of mountains and 
gulches gradually untangled, and the relation of the differ- 
ent mining localities to each other became clear. The 
South Clear comes down from the snowy range in a south- 
easterly direction ; while Gregory Gulch, rising from it at 
a general angle of about twenty degrees, extends nearly 
due west for about three miles, gradually losing itself in 
minor gulches and ravines among the summits of the 
mountains. 

Black Hawk commences a little below the intersection, 
and thrusts an arm up either gorge, like the letter Y, ex- 
cept that the left-hand arm has outgrown the other, and 
now forms a continuous line of building and business, up 
Gregory Gulch to Mountain City, which is a connecting 
link between Black J lawk and Central City. The latter 
place continues the line of compact settlement up the bot- 
tom of the gulch for a mile further, and almost forms a 
connection with Nevada City, which occupies the highest 
position, near the summit Black Hawk is exactly eight 

thousand feet above the sea, and the upper part oi" Nevada 
is at least a thousand feet higher. 



56 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

The view of the intersecting ravines (they can hardly 
be called valleys, and " gulch " is a mining term) and the 
steep, ponderous mountains which inclose them, has a cer- 
tain largeness and breadth of effect, but is by no means 
picturesque. The timber has been wholly cut away, except 
upon some of the more distant steeps, where its dark green 
is streaked with ghastly marks of fire. The great, awk- 
wardly rounded mountains are cut up and down by the 
lines of paying " lodes," and pitted all over by the holes 
and heaps of rocks made either by prospectors or to secure 
claims. Nature seems to be suffering from an attack of 
confluent small-pox. My experience in California taught 
me that gold-mining utterly ruius the appearance of a 
country, and therefore I am not surprised at what I see 
here. On the contrary, this hideous slashing, tearing, and 
turning upside down is the surest indication of mineral 
wealth. 

Commencing at Black Hawk, — where the sole pleasant 
object is the Presbyterian Church, white, tasteful, and 
charmingly placed on the last step of Bates Hill, above 
the chimneys and mills in the uniting ravines, — we mount 
Gregory Gulch by a rough, winding, dusty road, lined with 
crowded wooden buildings: hotels, with pompous names 
and limited accommodations ; drinking saloons, — u lager 
beer" being a frequent sign; bakeries, log and frame 
dwelling-houses, idle mills, piles of rusty and useless ma- 
chinery tumbled by the wayside, and now and then a cot- 
tage in the calico style, with all sorts of brackets and 
carved drop-cornices. In the centre of the gulch rushes a 
stream of muddy water, sometimes dammed up to broaden 
the bed and obtain a little more foothold for houses. Be- 
yond the large mill built by ex- General Fitz-John Porter 
for an unfortunate New York company, who paid a large 
sum to repeat the experience of the National Government, 
Black Hawk terminates; but the houses, mills, drinking 
saloons, and shops continue just the same, and in another 
half-mile you find yourself in Central City. 



CENTRAL CITY AND BLACK HAWK. 57 

This place consists mainly of one street, on the right- 
hand side of the gulch ; the houses on your left, as you 
ascend, resting on high posts or scaffolding, over the deep 
bed of the stream. Half-way up there is a single cross- 
street some three hundred feet in length, where the prin- 
cipal stores are jammed together in an incredibly small 
space. With one exception, the buildings are frame, dry 
as tinder at this season ; and a fire, starting at the top of 
the town, with a wind blowing' down the ravine, would wipe 
out the place in half an hour. The whole string of four 
cities has a curious, rickety, temporary air, with their build- 
ings standing as if on one leg, their big signs and little 
accommodations, the irregular, wandering, uneven street, 
and the bald, scarred, and pitted mountains on either side. 
Everything is odd, grotesque, unusual ; but no feature can 
be called attractive. 

I took quarters at the St. Nicholas Hotel, of which I will 
only say that the board is five dollars per day. The unac- 
customed thinness of the air caused me considerable incon- 
venience at first. I felt a painful giddiness for an hour^ or 
two, could scarcely walk twenty steps without halting to 
take breath, and have had bleeding at the nose for three 
mornings in succession. This is a common complaint with 
new-comers, and the old settlers can always recognize such 
by their bloody pocket-handkerchiefs. The days are hot 
and rather sultry, but the mornings and evenings are lovely 
in their freshness, clearness, and the delicious purity of the 
air. Two things are hardly to be surpassed, — water and 
sleep. The water is like crystal, icy cold, and so agree- 
able to the palate that I am tempted to drink it when not 
thirsty. It is said to contain a slight proportion of alkali, 
and a common phrase among the people attributes their 
irregularities to the " thin air and alkali water." The prop- 
erties of the latter, however, are said to be anaphrodisiac, 
which is rather an advantage than otherwise, in a m-w 
country. As for sleep, I don't know when I have found 



58 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

it so easy to obtain, or so difficult to relinquish. When I 
awake in the morning the half-conscious sense that I have 
been asleep is so luxurious that I immediately sleep again, 
and each permitted nap is sweeter than the last. The 
people seem to be remarkably healthy. Incipient disease 
of the lungs is almost always healed in this high and dry 
atmosphere, while it is fatal to the more advanced stages. 
Rheumatism and the mountain-fever are the most usual 
ailments. There is, at the same time, less tendency to dis- 
ease, and less recuperative power when a person is once 
attacked. 

In this population of from six to eight thousand souls, 
one finds representatives of all parts of the United States 
and Europe. Men of culture and education are plenty, 
yet not always to be distinguished by their dress or ap- 
pearance. Society is still agreeably free and unconven- 
tional. People are so crowded together, live in so primi- 
tive a fashion for the most part, and are, perhaps (many 
of them), so glad to escape from restraint, that they are 
more natural, and hence more interesting than in the older 
States. Owing to the latter cause, no doubt, it is some- 
times difficult to recognize the staid New Englander in the 
sunburnt individual in sombrero and riding-boots, who 
smokes his pipe, carries his pocket-flask, and tells any 
amount of rollicking stories. He has simply cast off his 
assumed shell and is himself; and I must confess I like 
him all the better. 

Last Saturday night, at Black Hawk, at the close of a 
lecture in the pretty church already mentioned, a gentle- 
man came to me and said : " It was a long way from here 
where we last met." He had a familiar face, but I could 
not at once detach it from the tens of thousands in my 
memory. "Do you remember," he asked, "riding into 
Kautokeino, in Lapland, one cold winter night, in a rein- 
deer sled ? " " It is impossible ! " I exclaimed, recognizing 
Herr Berger, the Norwegian merchant, who took me into 
his house in that Arctic solitude, after twenty hours of 



CENTRAL CITY AND BLACK HAWK. 59 

frozen travel among the wastes of snow ! It was he him- 
self, come all the way from Hammerfest, in latitude 71°, 
to be, first a soldier in the Union Army, and now a miner 
in Colorado ! He visited me yesterday, and we had a long 
talk about old times and mutual friends inside of the Arc- 
tic Circle. In three years he had lost every characteristic 
of the hyperborean, except an intense longing for the per- 
petual daylight of the Arctic summer. 

The day before, I was suddenly accosted by a fellow- 
voyager from China to New York, via St. Helena ; who, 
after enduring the horrors of Southern prisons, has come 
here to recruit as a mountaineer. 

Perhaps the " thin air and alkali water " may account 
for the rage for owning " claims " and " lodes," which seems 
to possess all classes of the community. Every man you 
meet has his pocket full of " specimens." When you are 
introduced to a stranger he produces a piece of " blossom 
rock," a " sulphuret," or a u chloride." The landlord of the 
hotel where you stop confidentially informs you that he 
owns 25,000 feet — " the richest lode in the country — 
assays $1300 to the cord, sir ! " The clerk is the happy 
possessor of 10,000 feet; the porter (where there is any) 
has at least 5000 ; while the chambermaid boasts of her 
own " Susanna Lode " or " Bridget Lode." The baker has 
specimens beside his bread ; the dispenser of lager beer 
looks important and mysterious ; the druggist is apt to 
give you " chlorides " instead of aperients ; and the lawyer, 
who takes his fees in "feet" (money being scarce), dreams 
of realizing millions after the Pacific Railroad reaches 
Denver. 

I have disgusted several individuals by refusing to buy, 
but the jargon has already infected my speech, and, after 
hearing a man at the table ask, — •• Is there a pay-streak 
in that bacon ? " I found myself on the point of asking the 
waiter to put a little more sulphuret in my coffee. The 
same waiter afterward said to me : •• Pie's played out, sir!" 
If I had then requested him to u corral the tailings," he 



60 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

would have brought me the fragments from the other 
plates. 

The Colorado dialect, in other respects, is peculiar. A 
dwelling-house is invariably styled " shebang ; " and the 
word, in many cases, is very appropriate. The Spanish 
corral (always mispronounced correll) has become com- 
pletely naturalized, and is used as a verb, meaning to catch 
or collect. A supply of any kind is an " outfit ; " a man 
does not shout, but " lets a yell out of him ; " and one who 
makes a blunder " cuts open a dog." I cannot recall, at 
this moment, half the peculiarities of the dialect, but I am 
learning them as fast as possible, in order to conform to 
the ways of the country. 

Some friends took me over the hill to Quartz Gulch, the 
other day, in order to try some mountain-brewed ale. Af- 
ter the intense still heat of the air the beverage was very 
refreshing, and greatly superior in its quality to the lager 
beer of the mountains. The owner of the brewery lives in 
a neat log-cabin, the steps whereto are ores of gold and 
silver, and inside the rough walls an accomplished lady sat 
down to her piano and played for us some choice compo- 
sitions. 

There is also a theatre here, with performances every 
night. Mr. Waldron, of California, takes the leading tragic 
and melodramatic parts, while Mr. Langrish, the manager, 
is himself a very admirable comedian. A good deal of 
swearing is introduced into the farces, to please the miners. 
I went in one evening and found the house crowded. 
There is a daily paper here, and one in Black Hawk, both 
well supported, I believe — certainly very well printed. 
The editorial dialect, to meet the tastes of the people, is 
of an exceedingly free-and-easy character. A collection of 
very curious specimens, both of approbation and attack, 
might easily be made ; but I am too fatigued by the thin 
air to make the attempt to-night. 

I must also postpone an account of mining operations 
and interests until to-morrow. 



IX. 

MINING AND MINING PROCESSES. 

Central City, Colorado, June 26, 1866. 

Although I have come to Colorado to look at scenery 
rather than at gold and silver mines, it is impossible to re- 
main in the centre of mining operations without feeling a 
desire to learn something concerning their character and 
prospects. Indeed it is quite necessary to acquire some 
general knowledge of the peculiarities of the ores and the 
technical terms describing them, in order both to under- 
stand three fourths of the conversation one hears, and to 
avoid the enthusiastic explanations which would be imme- 
diately proffered if _ one should confess entire ignorance. 
One would soon " cap out," or " peter out," socially, if he 
did not yield so much to this community. 

The region hereabout first drew miners, and afterward 
capitalists, from the rich discoveries made by Gregory, in 
the spring of 1859, and from its greater proximity to Den- 
ver. It is but one of a long chain of gold-bearing districts, 
many of which # are still but half explored. Many more, 
no doubt, are yet undiscovered. Here, however, the most 
has been done in the way of development, and we can there- 
fore better judge what dependence can be placed on the 
promise of the precious minerals. The deserted mills, the 
idle wheels, and the empty shafts and drifts far miles along 
this and the adjoining ravines — the general decrease of 
population everywhere in the mountains — indicate a pe- 
riod of doubt and transition, which is now, I believe, on the 
point of passing away. Colorado has been, alternately, the 



62 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

scene of exorbitant hopes and equally extravagant disap- 
pointments. Out of these violent reactions a new order 
of things is gradually being evolved. Great mistakes have 
been made. Ignorance has learned (at an enormous ex- 
pense) to recognize istelf. A terrible deal of swindling 
has been perpetrated, and the natural result is, that the 
country now has a worse reputation than it deserves, in 
most parts of the Union. As I do not own, or propose to 
own, one foot of any lode in the Territory, my own opin- 
ions on the subject — whatever they may be worth — will 
be at least unprejudiced. 

In the first place, gold is found here under very differ- 
ent conditions from those of California. " Free gold," as it 
is called (native or virgin gold), is much less abundant. 
Owing to the conformation of the mountains, there is but 
a limited space for " gulch " or surface washing, and the 
rush of miners to the country in 1859 and '60 soon ex- 
hausted the best of these. The " blossom-rock " (partially 
disintegrated quartz, with the gold mostly in a " free " 
state) gradually followed, leaving the great storehouse of 
the mountains still untouched, but containing the gold in 
such stubborn and difficult combinations, that by the old 
processes from fifty to eighty per cent, was lost, or, as 
they say here, " went down the creek." Then came dis- 
couragement, despondency, failure of experiments, and a 
general collapse, the results of which are everywhere ap- 
parent. Yet new lodes were all the time being discovered, 
and each succeeding assay showed the richness of the min- 
eral. 

As a general rule the gold is found in combination with 
copper, and the silver with lead. The silver ore, in fact, is 
simply a very rich argentiferous galena. Some mineralo- 
gists say that the ores are copper and lead, in reality, hold- 
ing the nobler metals in combination. It is immaterial 
which name we give, provided the latter can be completely 
extracted by some cheap method. This is now the problem 



MINING AND MINING PROCESSES. 63 

which is vexing Colorado — which suspends enterprise and 
holds back emigration, for a time. Out of the many proc- 
esses proposed, two only have been put in operation — 
Keith's and Lyon's. Monnier's and Kenyon's have not yet 
been actively tested. A few of the old stamp-mills are still 
running, and those companies which can afford to mine 
their ores a considerable time in advance of crushing them, 
will still make a profit by this method. The yield of gold 
is said to be fully doubled, by allowing the ore to be exposed 
to the air for the space of a year. Probably two thirds of 
the companies, however, are waiting the result of experi- 
ments. 

Another cause operates, though in a less degree, to check 
enterprises on a larger scale. Labor is scarce and very dear. 
Mechanics demand from six to ten dollars, and the com- 
monest miner five dollars per day. Iron, lime, chemical ma- 
terials, and even fuel, are also very expensive. Moreover, 
nothing is more certain than that when wheat is supplied 
at three cents per pound instead of ten (as it probably will 
be this fall), and when freight from the East is reduced 
from fifteen to six cents per pound, the expense of mining 
and separating the metals will be less than one half of what 
it now is. For this good time, which is not only coming, 
but is actually near at hand, the whole mountain popula- 
tion is waiting. 

The descent into a mine is one of the inevitable things 
which a traveller must perform. It is a moist, unpleasant 
business, but no one can speak authoritatively of " capping 
out," "wall rock/* "Aldan's," &C., who has not been down and 
seen the articles from beginning to end. Mr. Hayes, the 
Superintendent of the " Gregory Consolidated." offered to 
pilot me to a depth of three hundred feet, which 1 consid- 
ered would be as much as a strict sense of duty could exaet. 
I have no subterranean tastes, and honestly confess that I 
would have been glad of any valid excuse to omit the de- 
scent. But there was none : so I repaired to the engine- 



64 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

house and business office, high up the steep hill-side, put 
on stiff brown boots, a clayey coat, and a bespattered slouch 
of a hat, received my tallow candle with a sigh, and in- 
spected with a new interest the photograph of Speaker 
Colfax and his party, taken after their return from the 
realms under my feet. 

The steam-engine was undergoing repairs, and two hun- 
dred and fifty feet of perpendicular ladders, beside the 
pump-shaft, furnished the only means of descent. Mr. 
Rule, the never-tired Cornishman, led the way ; then Mr. 
Hayes, with his tallow candle, while I, with mine, brought 
up the rear. Through a little trap-door we passed from 
the blazing noon sunshine into a square, upright box of 
damp darkness, filled, somewhere far below, with sounds 
of dropping and trickling water. The ladders are about 
sixteen feet in length, separated by narrow platforms, where 
we can now and then take breath. On one side is the well, 
with its iron tubes, vanishing above and below. I cannot 
pretend to describe the operation of the machinery, and 
will only say that the work is of the most massive and 
durable character. There was plenty of leisure to inspect 
it before we reached the bottom. 

Having accomplished the descent, I. found myself in a 
horizontal drift, which followed the direction of the lode, 
into the heart of the mountain. Moving lights in the dis- 
tance, and the sounds of pick and hammer, guided us to the 
further end, where the workmen were busy tunnelling into 
the stubborn rock — the design being to. carry the drift to 
the limit of the Company's property. A new drift, seventy- 
five feet below this, has been started, and will be carried, 
horizontally, to the same point; after which, the crevice 
will be worked out from below upward. Its width, at the 
depth I reached, is from four to six feet. Contrary to the 
experience of other mining countries, the ore becomes 
richer as you descend, though at the same time more 
refractory. 



MINING AND MINING PROCESSES. 65 

The lodes, in this region, appear to be nearly vertical, 
and are so much alike in their features that a description 
of one will answer for all. The vertical crevice, sunk to 
an unknown depth in the primitive rock, has sides more or 
less curved or waved, so that one side, from irregular up- 
heaval, sometimes overlaps the other : the granite, or gneiss, 
meets, and cuts off the streak of ore. This is called " cap- 
ping out." The first discovery thereof occasioned a good 
deal of consternation. It was supposed that the lode was 
at an end, and that, in all probability, the Rocky Mountains 
were only rich on the surface. Now, however, when a lode 
caps out, the owner strikes through the isthmus of " wall 
rock," certain of finding his " pay streak " below. Some- 
times the lode is only " pinched," not entirely cut off. Of 
course the crevices vary in width and the ores in richness, 
but there is great similarity in all other conditions. 

It was easy to track the glittering presence of the sul- 
phurets and pyrites along the walls of the drift. When a 
light was held near the rock, it brought out sparkles of 
golden, scarlet, pink, and bright blue lustre, equal to any 
peacock coal. This ore, which is accounted very rich, is 
found in large masses, and it required a vigorous handling 
of the pick to get off a few specimens. I found it difficult 
to obtain any clear estimates of the yield. The ore is 
absurdly measured by " cords," — an ordinary two-horse 
wagon-load being called a quarter of a cord — and one 
cord may represent from eight to twelve tons. Fifty dol- 
lars a ton may perhaps represent a fair average yield — 
but this is a guess rather than a calculation. 

Crossing a gulf on a suspended ladder, we climbed into 
an upper drift, communicating with a part of the crevice 
which had been worked down from above, and gave us a 
distant glimpse of daylight Here we found the lode again, 
and could make some estimate of the value of the oris 
packed between US and the bottom of the mine. The way 
in which the lodes are cut into claims, which fall into the 
5 



G6 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

hands of different companies, is a great obstacle to the 
economical working of them. A horizontal drift, from the 
point where the lode strikes the bottom of Gregory Gulch, 
would be a self-acting drain ; but the Company, since it does 
not own this portion of the lode, is driven to the enormous 
expense of pumping from a depth of nearly four hundred 
feet. Moreover, when one company suspends operations 
for a time, and the water collects, the companies above it, 
on the same lode, are unable to work. These are some of 
the inevitable, yet very unpractical, features which still be- 
long to Colorado mining. 

As we were returning to the lower drift, there was a 
sudden smothered bellowing under our feet, the granite 
heart of the mountain trembled, and our candles were ex- 
tinguished in an instant. It was not an agreeable sensation, 
especially when Mr. Rule informed me that another blast 
would follow the first. However, the darkness and uncer- 
tainty soon came to an end. We returned to the foot of 
the ladder, and, after a climb which, in that thin air, was a 
constant collapse to the lungs, we reached the daylight in 
a dripping, muddy, and tallow-spotted condition. 

Mr. Hayes was kind enough to accompany me to the 
smelting-works of the Company, and point out the principal 
features of the Lyons process. I shall not attempt to give 
a technical description. The process, I believe, is imported 
from Wales, with very slight modifications. The ores are 
ground, washed, released from the rock, desulphurized by 
heat, smelted, the gold and silver separated from the lead 
and copper, and finally delivered in cakes which contain 
about seventy-five per cent, in weight, of silver, and some 
eighty per cent, in value, of gold. The lead and copper 
are not saved, except so much of the former as is used in 
smelting, in the form of litharge. 

I believe this is the only process, at present, in operation, 
which saves the silver. Whether the amount gained thereby 
is sufficient to balance the greater expense of reducing the 



MINING AND MINING PROCESSES. 67 

ores, I cannot say. Professor Hill, who has just returned 
from Swansea, in company with Mr. Hermann, of the firm 
of Vivian & Co., brings a proposal, I am told, to send " mats " 
of the metals, unseparated, to Wales, the value of the cop- 
per alone being enough to pay the cost of transportation 
and smelting. Mr. Hermann considers the ores immensely 
rich, and has commenced a series of assays, the result of 
which, I presume, will not be immediately made public. 

The only objection I have heard urged against the Lyons 
process is its expensive character. In other respects it 
must be satisfactory, since the Company is now buying the 
" tailings " of the stamp-mills, at the rate of fifty dollars per 
cord, for the purpose of smelting. Statements on either 
side must be received with a certain amount of allowance, 
and many communications are made to me which I forbear 
repeating. I can only say that the energy and activity dis- 
played by the Lyons Company indicate success. 

Mr. Lathrop took me to-day to Keith's Mill, which is in 
the Clear Creek Valley, about a mile from Black Hawk. 
The process here is very simple. The ore, after being 
ground, is placed in hollow cylinders, where a number of 
small iron balls reduce it to powder. After being desul- 
phurized by heat, it is placed in the cylinders and pulver- 
ized a second time. Finally, the usual treatment, by water 
and quicksilver, is employed to take up the gold alone, sil- 
ver, lead, and copper being lost. Mr. Keith claims that by 
the process he obtains one hundred per cent, more than 
the stamp-mills — probably eighty to eighty-five per cent, 
of the whole amount of gold. The advantage of his method 
is its cheapness. The handling of the material, from first 
to last, is done by machinery, and the different stages of 
the process arc so conveniently connected that four nun 
can reduce two cords of ore daily. Mr. Keith seems to 
have great faith in the success of his method, which is cer- 
tainly destined to supersede the stamp-mills. The loss of 



68 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

the silver, however, strikes me as an objection to its use in 
many parts of Colorado. 

The stamp-mill of the Black Hawk Company is still at 
work, pounding out the less refractory ores from the Bob- 
tail Lode. It is a model mill of the kind, admirable in its 
arrangement, thoroughly regulated, and with a refreshing 
air of permanence in all its departments. I am told that 
its average production is two hundred and twenty-five 
ounces of gold per week, whereof twenty-five ounces are 
profit. I suspect this is only a guess. 

One thing is certain : the mines of Colorado are among 
the richest in the world. I doubt whether either California 
or Nevada contains a greater amount of the precious metals 
than this section of the Rocky Mountains. These peaks, 
packed as they are with deep, rich veins — seamed and 
striped with the out-cropping of their hidden and reluc- 
tantly granted wealth — are not yet half explored. They 
are part of a grand deposit of treasure which will eventu- 
ally be found to extend from Guanajuato and Real del 
Monte to the Mackenzie and Coppermine Rivers, and 
which, if properly worked, will yield a hundred millions 
a year for a thousand years ! Colorado, alone, ought to 
furnish the amount of the national debt within the next 
century. The gold is here, and the silver, the copper, and 
lead, — possibly, platina (there are already rumors of'it), — 
and all that is needed is invention, intelligence, and prop- 
erly organized enterprise. 

There is an immense number of fools in the world, and 
many of them either found their way to Colorado, or in- 
vested in mythical mines of fabulous productiveness. More 
than the usual amount of folly and swindling was located 
here for a time — hence the reaction, the effects of which 
are still felt. 

Before leaving Central City, I must say that it is the 
most outrageously expensive place in Colorado. You pay 



MINING AND MINING PROCESSES. 69 

more and get less for the money than in any other part of 
the world. I am already tired of these bald, clumsy shaped, 
pock-marked mountains ; this one long, windy, dusty street, 
with its perpetual menace of fire ; and this never-ending 
production of " specimens " and offer of " feet," and shall 
joyfully say good-by to-morrow morning. 



X. 



TO IDAHO AND EMPIRE. 



Empire, foot of the Snowy Range, June 27, 1866. 

My friends in Central City will not take offence when I 
say that I left — not them, but the place — with a cheerful 
sense of relief. I had been for four days jammed down 
among the torn and barren hills, and yearned mightily for 
a freer out-look and more attractive scenery. As the stage 
left the narrow ravine, through which the wind draws the 
dust as through a funnel, and climbed around the steep 
toward Russell's Gulch, the air seemed to become at once 
gentler and purer. The mountains, though still for the 
most part bare or gray, with burned forests, swept broadly 
into the distance ; and between their gaps, to the eastward, 
shimmered the hot blink of the Plains. There were specks 
of snow near their summits, but the dividing range to the 
west of us was still invisible. 

Russell's Gulch, from top to bottom, — a distance, ap- 
parently, of two or three miles, — ■ and all its branches, show 
the traces of gold-washing. The soil has been turned up- 
side down, hollowed out and burrowed into, in every direc- 
tion. Around the edges of this desolation stand the de- 
serted cabins of the former miners, a chance one still oc- 
cupied. I noticed, here and there, some feeble attempts at 
gulch mining, but the large new mill near the head of the 
glen was a better sign of enterprise. The stamp-mills, all 
of primitive pattern, were mostly idle ; yet every vein in 
this region is covered by claims, and the specimens they 
show are of great richness. Here, as elsewhere, the owners 
are waiting for the new process. 



TO IDAHO AND EMPIRE. 71 

Our road led southward, across several shoulders or 
undulations of the range, gradually ascending, until we 
reached the divide between the waters of North and South 
Clear Creeks, at an elevation of more than nine thousand 
feet. Two or three peaks of dazzling snow came in sight, 
apparently very near us, so sharply were they relieved 
against the hard, dark blue of the sky. Segments of the 
Plains — scarcely to be distinguished from the sea — ap- 
peared to the eastward ; while directly in front of us rose 
the three picturesque summits, which have been named the 
Chief, the Pappoose, and the Squaw. The first of these 
reaches a height of more than twelve thousand feet, its 
bare pyramidal summit shooting far above the timber line. 
It has several times been ascended. 

The height from which one looks upon these mountains 
greatly lessens their apparent altitude, and thus diminishes 
the effect of the scenery. When you have penetrated so 
far within the Rocky Mountains that all view of the great 
Plains is shut out, you naturally measure the elevation of 
the ranges from the beds of the valleys. But these beds 
rise very rapidly as you advance, and you are constantly 
brought nearer the line where forests cease and snow be- 
gins. The thin air and deeper color of the sky indicate the 
level you have reached, but the mountains seem no higher 
than before. 

After crossing the divide, the road descends to South 
Clear Creek, through a long, winding glen. I here noticed 
a bush-maple, a variety of the alder-tree, and great quan- 
tities of wild currants and gooseberries. Far and near, all 
over the steep sides and flanks of the mountains, were the 
traces of prospectors. In some places tt blossom rock" had 
been found and abandoned, probably making a poor assay : 
in others, holes had been quarried to the depth of six or 
eight feet without any perceptible result. Iii the narrowest 
part of the glen, however, we came upon a pile of fresh 
ore, which showed a strong " color," and was said to yield 



72 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

from two hundred to one thousand dollars per ton. One 
of the owners, at least, was very enthusiastic, and it was 
plainly to be seen that the vein was being actively worked. 

While I was admiring the bold, grand outlines of the 
Chief, which became more and more striking as we de- 
scended, the glen suddenly opened, and we found ourselves 
in the valley of the South Clear. " Ah, this begins to be 
Alpine ! " I exclaimed. Here, at last, there was a little 
breadth and space, — a floor from an eighth to a quarter 
of a mile in width, bordered by mountains, which towered 
up, up, behind their huge escarpments of rock, into the 
region of snow. Here the ranges were more detached, al- 
lowing something of form to be traced ; the forests were 
not all burned or levelled ; glimpses of green meadows 
shone down from the higher slopes ; and the cold, clear 
stream, fed from the fields of melting snow, foamed and 
flashed in the sun. 

We came at once upon a straggling village of log-huts, 
which, after having outlived a variety of names, is now 
called " Idaho," — the inhabitants fondly supposing that 
this word means " the gem of the mountains." [I need 
hardly say that the Indians have no such phrase. Idaho 
is believed to mean " rocks."] I here left the stage, Mr. 
Sisty having kindly offered to take me on to Empire in the 
afternoon. In this queer, almost aboriginal village, with 
its charming situation, there is the best hotel in Colorado. 
It has just been completed ; the opening ball occurred after 
I reached Central City. The astonished stranger here 
finds a parlor with carpets as showy, horse-hair sofas as 
shiny and slippery, looking-glasses with as much gilding, 
tables as marbled-topped, and everything else as radiant 
with varnish or gypsum, as the laws of American taste in 
such things could require. The bedrooms are so fresh — 
so unsuggestive of a thousand unwashed previous occu- 
pants — that I regretted not being able to enjoy the luxury 
for one night. 



TO IDAHO AND EMPIRE. 73 

While I was preparing to accompany Mr. Sisty to the 
soda springs of Idaho, I was accosted by an old Norwegian, 
a native of Drammen. The kindly feeling which all Scan- 
dinavians have for any one who has ever visited their 
country is remarkable. In Kansas, I bought a pair of 
blankets from a Swede, who instantly abated one dollar of 
the price, when I addressed him in his native tongue. Al- 
though my Norsk is very halting, from long disuse, the 
old fellow borrowed a fishing-rod, and in an hour presented 
me with seven mountain-trout for my dinner. And such 
trout ! Admirable as was the hotel-dinner, over which 
Mrs. Beebe presided, I was obliged to slight it for the 
special dish she prepared and placed before me. I hope 
to fall in with many more Norwegians before I leave the 
mountains. 

The soda springs are already turned to service. Two 
bath-houses have been built for summer guests. In one 
of these the water is so regulated, that the bather may 
choose whatever temperature he prefers, the hot spring 
being about ninety-five degrees as it issues from the earth. 
It has a deliciously refreshing and exhilarating quality, as 
I found after taking it warm. The taste resembles a weak 
and rather flat citrate of magnesia ; but, as the water has 
not yet been analyzed, I cannot give the ingredients. The 
hot and cold springs come up so close together, that one 
may dip a hand in either at the same time. 

But neither these springs nor the gold mines comprise 
all the riches of Idaho. Further down the valley, some- 
where, there is a vein of rough opal eighteen inches thick. 
I have a piece of it in my pocket at this moment, and it is 
undoubtedly opal, though of faint, imperfect fire, as if its 
quality were faded by long exposure to the weather. Small 
specimens of a similar variety, from Montana, are frequent 
in Colorado ; but I have seen nothing yet with the infinite 
sparkle of the Hungarian or the prismatic lustre of the 
Honduras opal. It is unreasonable, however, to ask for 



74 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

the precious gems, where so much other wealth has been 
given. 

After dinner, Mr. Sisty produced a buggy and a pair of 
fast horses, and we set out up the valley. The road was 
smooth, as if macadamized ; the cold, pale-green creek 
roared beside us, sweeping around pine-clad capes or un- 
der the shadow of mighty cliffs, and the snows of the 
higher summits brightened in the sunshine. This was in- 
spiring travel, reminding me (dimly, I must confess) of 
the Upper Valley of the Rhine, between Spliigen and the 
Via Mala. After two or three miles the valley contracted, 
becoming a mere canon, walled in by overhanging preci- 
pices ; a stream, which we crossed on a toll-bridge, came 
down through a gorge on the right. Beyond the bridge 
there was a hotel, commanding a view of the wonderful 
" Notch." I noticed that one of the upper windows of this 
hotel had been removed ; then I saw the end of a mahl- 
stick moving about in the open place ; then a mass of 
flowing locks, an easel, and an absorbed countenance. It 
was Mr. Beard, working with might and main to catch the 
lovely, fleeting effects of light and shade on the rocks and 
pines. On the veranda below sat General Pierce, his com- 
panion, more patient than Science usually is, when it must 
wait for Art. 

We halted an hour, and I made a wretched attempt at a 
sketch of the place. You cannot cram this scenery into 
the compass of a block-book ; it requires a large canvas, 
and the boldest and broadest handling. The eye is con- 
tinually cheated, the actual being so much more than the 
apparent dimensions of all objects. Though so familiar 
with the effect of extraordinarily pure, thin air, and great 
clearness of outline, I am still frequently at fault. What 
one sees small, is always small in the drawing. Even pho- 
tographs here have the same dwarfed, diminished expres- 
sion. I can now see how naturally Bierstadt was led to a 
large canvas. 



TO IDAHO AND EMPIRE. 75 

Leaving the artist at his work, we drove through the 
gorge into another open stretch of the valley. Westward, 
directly in front, a peak of the central snowy range tow- 
ered over all the intermediate heights ; while on the left 
Mount Douglas, throwing its own shadow over a thousand 
feet of vertical precipice, guarded the entrance to George- 
town Valley. Three or four miles up this valley lies the 
little village of that name, with promising leads and lodes ; 
while beyond it, among the snowy tangle of mountains at 
the southeastern corner of the Middle Park, is the famous 
silver district, recently discovered, and now known by the 
name of " Argentine." The mineral is there said to be of 
fabulous richness, but more than ten thousand feet above 
the sea. Assays, I am informed, give between three and 
four thousand dollars to the ton. 

In ascending the South Clear, the rise averages about 
one hundred feet to the mile, and the estimated elevation 
of Empire is nine thousand feet. Take the altitude of the 
Catskill Mountain House above the Hudson, and place 
that on the top of Mount Washington, and you will have 
the elevation of this place, where people live, work, and 
carry on business ; where, in the Eocky Mountains, cattle 
have excellent pasture, and potatoes are raised ! More 
than this, the little mining village of North Empire, a mile 
from this place, is one thousand four hundred feet higher ; 
yet even there the inhabitants pass the winter with less 
discomfort than one would suppose. On the table-lands 
of the Andes, under the equator, we find towns at an equal 
height, but nowhere else in the world. Among the Alps, 
at an elevation of nine thousand feet, there is not a blade 
of grass ; even moss and lichens disappear. 

Empire enjoys a very picturesque situation. The pop- 
ulation may possibly be three hundred ; the houses air 
mostly cabins of hewn logs, but their inhabitants are men 
of intelligence and enterprise. On reaching the White 
House (kept by Mr. White), I found Mr. Byers, editor of 



76 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

" The Rocky Mountain News," who is to be our pilot and 
companion through the Parks. Mr. Beard has since 
arrived, and the other two gentlemen of our party (Messrs. 
M'Candless and Davis, of Pittsburg) were already await- 
ing us. Here, therefore, we shall take leave of such civil- 
ization as gold-mining carries with it, and strike into the 
wilder regions beyond. Our preparations are few and 
easily made. The horses and mules, belonging to Charley 
Utter, the famous trapper and trader of the Middle Park, 
will be in charge of Mr. White's son. Mr. Byers has 
superintended the laying in of supplies (consisting chiefly 
of biscuit, fat pork, ham, coffee, and sugar), and our blank- 
ets and overcoats will furnish the necessary bedding. 
Luxuries we discard — except, in my single case, a few 
cigars of doubtful quality. No cases of bottles, or boxes 
of tin cans, accompany us ; we have no forks, nor plates, 
but one tin cup apiece, and a single spoon for the whole 
company. The culinary utensils consist of a frying-pan 
and a coffee-pot. To be sure, we have visions of moun- 
tain-trout, and of elk-steak, broiled on skewers ; but these 
may be fairly permitted, without branding us as epicu- 
reans. The whole outfit is of the Robinson Crusoe char- 
acter, and necessarily so, for pack animals must be lightly 
burdened on the trails which we are to follow. 

1 have just been lecturing in the Methodist church 

(the same in which the Colorado Conference has been held 
this week) to an audience of more than a hundred persons. 
The effect of speaking, at an altitude of nine thousand feet, 
is not attended with the fatigue which I had anticipated 
during the act ; but it is followed by a sense of complete 
exhaustion. The audience, for calm, steady attention, 
might have belonged to New York or New England. No 
one went out for a drink, as is the custom in the mining 
communities of California. I missed — and to my regret 
— a type of face which I have found in every Colorado 
audience, until this evening. In fact, I came to look for 



TO IDAHO AND EMPIRE. 77 

the face naturally ; it struck my fancy in Denver, the first 
evening, and I found it, slightly varied, for eight nights in 
succession. It represents a type unique among civilized 
races, and only to be found (and that only of late years) in 
the United States — a type expressing the precise point 
where the elements of the rowdy begin to disappear, and 
those of the gentleman manifest themselves. The square 
of the face rounds into the oval ; the forehead is good, the 
eyebrows straight and dark, the hair generally dark also ; 
the eye is remarkably beautiful ; the nose would be good, 
but for the least bit of tendency to turn up at the end ; 
there is generally a mustache, full yet firm lips, a strong, 
manly chin, and (here the rowdy mark remains !) a square 
animal jaw. The face expresses a fine and noble quality 
of manhood, not yet wholly detached from a coarse, rude 
basis. This type so interested me, that I found myself in- 
voluntarily singling out the best specimen and addressing 
myself specially to him — and always with a sense that it 
was right to do so. I should be glad to think that this 
face represents a general fact. 



XL 

CROSSING THE BERTHOUD PASS. 

Camp in the Middle Park, June 29, 1866. 

Our plans for the mountain journey had been fixed 
before leaving Denver, and we adhered to them in spite 
of warnings and persuasions. Mr. Byers is an accom- 
plished mountaineer, to whom much of the ground is fa- 
miliar, and I preferred taking his advice to that of others 
who spoke from hearsay rather than experience. It would 
be difficult, if not impossible, to cross Berthoud Pass, 
many persons asserted ; the hardships of Colonel Babcock's 
party, a fortnight ago, were constantly cited, and the spec- 
tres of risk and danger, which those who stay at home de- 
light to evoke for those who travel, accompanied us up 
to the very moment of starting. 

At Empire, however, the people contented themselves 
with predicting that we could not get over the Pass in a 
day ; and, indeed, there seemed a strong probability that 
they were right. White set out at daybreak to corral the 
horses and mules ; we also rose early, washed our faces in 
the frosty air, in the midst of a panorama of rose-tinted - 
Alps, took an early "square" breakfast, and tied our equip- 
ments in comfortable parcels for packing. But the ani- 
mals, well suspecting what was before them, refused to be 
corralled. First one assistant, then another, was dispatched, 
until five persons were busy, and nine o'clock had arrived 
before there was any prospect of our departure. In the 
mean time, the landlord produced a boiled ham, and a tin 
kettle full of hot biscuit, which we put into a coffee-bag. 



CROSSING THE BERTHOUD PASS. 79 

" They might ha' been sadder," said he, speaking of the 
biscuit ; " they pack better when they 're sad." 

General Pierce had set out on his return to Denver, tak- 
ing with him our " biled shirts and store clothes." We were 
• attired in flannel, and becomingly rough, each with the 
handle of a tin cup hooked into the button-hole of his coat, 
his trousers tucked into huge riding-boots, spur on heel, 
and buckskin gloves on hand. By this time White had 
arrived with the animals, — two cute little pack-mules, a 
lean dun mare for myself, and a large brown mule for Mr. 
Beard. The other gentlemen had their own beasts. The 
packing, strapping, and other final preparations were done 
hastily, and by ten o'clock we were in the saddle. " You '11 
camp on this side of the Pass to-night," said Judge Cowles ; 
and so we rode out of Empire. 

I wish we had -a word in the English language corre- 
sponding to the German "reiselust" — because that word, 
and none other, expresses the feeling with which one sets 
out on a journey, in the pure upper air of a mountain 
region. The blood circulates with nimble alacrity ; the 
lungs expand with a tingling sense of delight ; all sights 
and sounds of Nature have a character of cheer and en- 
couragement ; life is a most agreeable condition, and one's 
fellow-men are good fellows, every one of them. 

It was a superb day. The wind blew down from the 
snow-fields, tempering the heat of a dazzling sun in a 
cloudless sky. The village behind us showed between 
groups of tall, dark fir-trees ; the creek, dammed for a 
stamp-mill, spread out a bright lake in the lap of the valley ; 
and southward the sharp summit of Montgomery Peak rose 
high above all the surrounding mountains. We had still a 
good wagon-road, with rough bridges across the torrents 
which came down from every rocky glen. The pack-mules 
maliciously strayed hither and thither, shaking out o\^ bal- 
ance their hastily arranged loads, and sometimes even hid- 
ing behind the trees in the hope of escaping their destiny. 



80 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

The valley gradually narrowed, and we entered a defile 
far grander than anything I had yet seen in the Rocky 
Mountains. On either side enormous masses of dark-red 
rock towered over our heads to the height of fifteen hun- 
dred feet, so torn and split into colossal towers, walls, and 
buttresses, that every minute presented a new combination 
of forms. The bed of the glen was filled with huge frag- 
ments, tumbled from above. Even here, high up on al- 
most inaccessible points, the prospectors had left their 
traces, lured by the indications of ore in cliffs above, to 
which they dare not climb. Our necks ached with gazing 
at the sharp sky-piercing summits, in the hope of detecting 
mountain sheep ; but none were to be seen. 

We forded the South Clear, which, swollen by the melt- 
ing snows, reached to the horses' bellies, and was so swift 
that they could scarcely keep their footing. The road then 
entered a forest of fir and pine, over the tops of which we 
now and then caught the glimmer of snowy summits. But 
the new and beautiful flora of the mountains kept my gaze 
to the earth. Both new flowers and new varieties of fa- 
miliar families made their appearance. A lovely species 
of the columbine (aquilegia), large and white, the horns 
and external petals of a pale violet, would be a great orna- 
ment to our gardens. There were also several handsome 
varieties of sedum and saxifrage, the flame-colored euchro- 
ma, and an unknown spicy flower of the purest turquoise 
blue. The mahonia, here called the " Oregon grape," is 
very abundant in the forests. I have found it in all parts 
of the mountains which I have yet visited. 

Beyond the rocky gorge which I have described, the 
valley opens again, revealing its head, inclosed by a semi- 
circular sweep of the snowy range. As this is one of the 
points suggested for the passage of the Rocky Mountains 
by the Pacific Railroad, we took careful note of its confor- 
mation, and the facilities offered for overcoming the alti- 
tude of the range. The average fall of Clear Creek, from 



CROSSING THE BERTHOUD PASS. 81 

the base of the dividing ridge to the Plains near Denver, 
is about one hundred feet per mile, and there is no diffi- 
culty in building a road through that part of the valley 
which I traversed. On reaching the head of the valley, 
three passes offer themselves. The first is the famous 
Berthoud Pass, on the right, offering a way into the Middle 
Park through a depression in the main chain. Five miles 
further is the Vasquez Pass, also on the right hand. This, 
however, is rather a trail, over the crest of the mountain, 
than a pass. Some four or five miles further, at the very 
head of the valley, is a new pass, recently discovered by 
Mr. Jones, who is at present engaged in constructing a 
wagon-road over it into the Park. Both the latter passes 
are higher than the Berthoud, but the new one is^ said to 
offer the easiest approaches. It has not yet been surveyed, 
and may prove the most favorable for a railroad. 

At the foot of the Berthoud Pass, we had already risen 
more than nine thousand feet above the sea, leaving about 
two thousand feet still to be surmounted. We were eight 
miles from Pmipire, and three from the summit. Our pack- 
mules were forced, with great difficulty, to leave the wagon- 
road, and take the narrow trail which struck directly up 
the steep flank of the mountain. It was, indeed, a terrible 
pull which awaited them. We had not made a hundred 
yards before our horses stopped, almost gasping for breath. 
I could feel the heart of my lean mare knocking rapidly 
against her ribs. A few little knobs or projections from 
the line of descent favored the poor beasts for awhile, but 
it was not long before these ceased, and the terrific slant of 
the mountain presented itself unrelieved, to be overcome. 
The trail was a mere mark in the gravelly soil, where a 
stone loosed by the foot would find no rest until it reached 
the level of the valley. The angle of descent was in some 
places not less than .">()°. Here there were few trees, and 
the valley yawned under us like an enormous green basin, 
with a jagged white border. 



82 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

From this point I overlooked the course of Clear Creek 
from its very source. The main valley seemed to be formed 
out of four or five small ones, radiating down from between 
the buttresses of the main chain. It appeared to be doubt- 
ful whether a railroad could obtain a sufficient return curve 
to overcome the first precipitous part of the Berthoud Pass 
without running up to the head of the valley on the oppo- 
site side — in which case, each of these lateral valleys, or 
rather glens, would be an obstacle. Still — judging merely 
by the eye — the difficulty did not seem to be much greater 
than in the case of the Pennsylvania Central, or the Balti- 
more and Ohio roads. What lay beyond the angle of the 
mountain we were climbing I could not see ; but there is 
certainly valley enough above the foot of the Berthoud 
Pass to effect a rise of one thousand feet, which (with a 
tunnel three miles in length, cutting off fifteen hundred 
feet of elevation) is all that would be necessary. 

Mr. Beard and myself were so moved by the breathless 
toil of our animals that we dismounted at a safe place, and 
walked. In five minutes we were in a worse condition than 
the horses ; our knees tottered, our bodies were drenched 
with sweat, our eyes dim, heads giddy, and lungs utterly 
collapsed. At every tenth step we were obliged to pause 
in order to breathe, and after not more than three hundred 
steps I defied the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to 
Animals, and mounted again. I am no light weight, and 
therefore it was Cruelty to Man (which is worse) to carry 
one's self up such a steep. I think we must have climbed 
in this style for a mile and a half; it seemed interminable. 
Then the angle of ascent fell off very greatly ; the fir for- 
est grew thick around us, shutting off the view of valley 
and mountains, and heaps of rotten snow began to appear 
in shady places. Where the trail had been shovelled out 
of drifts a month ago, we now rode over moist earth, be- 
tween dripping, crumbling walls of snow. Another quar- 
ter of an hour, and the steeps fell back in front, leaving a 



CROSSING THE BERTHOUD PASS. 83 

lovely Alpine meadow, dotted with clumps of pine, the 
vivid green of its turf sprinkled with snowy star-flowers, 
and a brook of icy crystal winding through it. 

I was delighted when Mr. Byers gave the word to un- 
saddle. It was barely three quarters of a mile, he said, to 
the summit of the Pass ; whether we could cross was still 
a doubtful matter ; and, before attempting it, both beasts 
and men must be fed. The former were turned loose to 
graze at will, with their long lariats dragging after them : 
the latter unhooked the cups from their button-holes, 
opened the coffee-bags, cut the ham with hunting-knives, 
and partook of the biscuits which were not sufficiently 
" sad." The water of the brook was so intensely cold that 
it almost made one scream. Yet immediately out of and 
through it grew clusters of a flower so purely beautiful 
that we all cried out with admiration on discovering it 
Out of a ring of broadly ovate leaves (under the water) 
rose a straight stem twelve to fifteen inches in height, 
crowned at the top with a cluster of dark crimson-velvet 
flowers, about the size and with the rich mealy bloom of 
the polyanthus. It is called, here, the " Alpine primrose ; " 
but I know of neither cowslip nor primrose that will com- 
pare with it. The odor is very peculiar, resembling that 
of Russia leather. Here is a treasure for our florists ! 

While we took our lunch and rested our bones Mr. Byers 
and White discussed the passage of the mountains. Di- 
rectly in front of us a depression in the fir-clad ridge indi- 
cated the summit of the Pass, on either side of which bald, 
snowy peaks rose considerably above the timber line. 
White had crossed the range last week, with a drove of 
twenty-two government horses ; but he had gone consider- 
ably to the northward of the Pass, in order to avoid the 
snows. It was a question whether we should try to reopen 
the old trail, or follow his example and climb the frightful- 
looking steep on our right to a point beyond the timber 
Being a green hand, I said nothing ; but I felt relieved 



84 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

when the Pass was selected, for the snows had been melt- 
ing very rapidly, and I was convinced that we could falsify 
the predictions of our friends. 

The horses were saddled, the mules repacked, and we 
set out upon the uncertain adventure. There was snow 
all around us, — some drifts, even, lay on the meadow, — 
and, even where it had melted, the soil was such an elastic, 
treacherous bog, that we did not venture to ride. On all 
sides rills came rushing down, uprooted trees barred the 
way, or pools of black mud had collected. It was impossi- 
ble to follow the trail, although we could trace it by the 
marks of the shovels. Slowly, in single file, stopping every 
two minutes to lean upon our horses' necks and gasp for 
breath, spattered with mud and wet with snow-water, we 
climbed through the forest, taking heart from the knowledge 
that this was our last hard pull. The trees rapidly grew 
thinner, the roaring rills became noiseless threads of water, 
the snow-drifts overlapped each other and must be waded, 
and then — the steep suddenly flattened, and a keen wind 
blew over the summit of the Pass. 

It is a sharp crest, with not ten yards between the oppo- 
site declivities. Here there was an open space, covered 
with bunch-grass, among the fields of snow. We were 
just at the limit of timber, a little more than eleven 
thousand feet above the sea-level. No general panorama 
of the range is visible, but there are inclosed views to the 
east and west. Behind us, a sweep of bleak, frosty sum- 
mits, too near (apparently), too hard and sharp, to be beau* 
tiful. Before us, far away over the deeps of endless dark- 
green forest, a grand Alpine range, 

" lifting there 
A thousand shadow-pencilled valleys 
And snowy dells in a golden air." 

Still further, thirty or forty miles behind it, arose two great 
snowy pyramids, evidently beyond the North Park, and not 
inferior in height to Mont Blanc. This view was superior, 



CROSSING THE BERTHOUD PASS. 85 

in all the elements of sublimity, to anything I had seen 
since entering the mountains. In the centre of the bare 
spot where we gathered grew a ranunculus, a blossom of 
which I transferred to my note-book. 

Beyond us, on the Pacific slope, we could see nothing 
but a waste of snow. Our two mountaineers, therefore, 
determined to make a preliminary exploration. Plunging 
into the drifts, wherein they sank to their thighs at nearly 
every step, they disappeared from sight, while we discussed 
the chances of reaching the Park before night. It was 
now two o'clock in the afternoon, the distance somewhere 
between twelve and fifteen miles, and unknown hardships 
and perils on the way — by no means an encouraging pros- 
pect ! In half an hour Mr. Byers and White made their 
appearance, very much fagged and not particularly cheer- 
ful. The former simply said, — " We '11 try it ! " and took 
his horse's bridle. We followed, keeping the pack-mules 
near the centre of the line, and commenced the descent 

The snow, we soon found, was of very irregular texture. 
After walking three or four steps on the surface, we would 
suddenly plunge into a loose, melting mass, men and horses 
floundering together. It was necessary to lead by a long 
rein, to avoid the leaps and struggles of the latter. Where 
the descent was steep, I frequently found myself buried 
nearly to the hips and thrown upon my face, with the 
horse's head resting on my back. Now and then a rock, a 
log, or the top of a sharp knoll offered us a resting-place, 
and the chance of shaking off the snow, the penetrative 
cold of which pierced to one's very marrow. In one place 
there was a gulf of snow overhanging an arrowy torrent 
I cleared it with a leap, and then, as my mare prepared to 
follow, took a second leap, to give her room to land. For 
a moment she hung by her forefeet, but a strong pull on 
the bridle brought her out of the danger. The dry, horny 
branches of the firs were also to be avoided; they both 
stabbed and tore, and in our headlong plunges it was not 



86 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

easy to keep out of their way. After nearly a mile of this 
travel, when strength, hope, and courage were on the point 
of giving out, the drifts diminished, and we could now and 
then walk in a bog of black mud, which was a pleasant 
relief. A little further, and Mr. Byers announced that the 
trail was found, although not yet practicable — we must 
still break our own way. 

Our faces were smarting and our throats were parched, 
yet the snow-water, which set our teeth on edge with its 
coldness, did not seem to quench thirst in the least. We 
were soon enabled, however, to mount, and throw the bur- 
den of fatigue on the horses. After a short but very steep 
descent, the path was barred by an impetuous torrent, 
which was crossed at one point by a frail arch of snow left 
from a drift. White boldly walked over, leading his horse 
after him ; but no one else dared to follow. After a little 
search we found a fordable place, and crossed, with the 
water foaming up to our saddles. There was yet another 
branch of the same river before us, and this proved to be 
both deeper and swifter. Mr. Beard's mule tottered and 
gave way, but regained his footing just on the brink of a 
rapid, and with a little care we all got safely over. 

We were now able to follow the trail, except where it 
led into boggy holes, where the horses frequently sank to 
their bellies. On account of the fallen timber, it was a 
work .of considerable difficulty to get around these holes. 
An interminable forest surrounded us. During the first 
four or five miles, we had an occasional glimpse of open 
green meadows on our right, and spurs of the snowy range 
towering beyond ; afterwards, nothing but a dark wilder- 
ness of pines, firs, and aspens. The descent was very 
gradual — so much so, that after travelling for three hours, 
we were still in the midst of snow-drifts. My boots were 
completely sodden, and my feet and legs soon became so 
icy cold that I was forced to walk a good part of the way, 
although the exercise seemed to rack every joint in the 



CROSSING THE BERTHOUD PASS. 87 

body. Mile after mile and hour after hour passed by, and 
still the same gloomy, dreary forest ; still snow, mud-holes, 
and fallen logs. We had forced the Berthoud Pass, and 
expected to camp in the Park, which was cause for con- 
gratulation ; but how devoutly we longed for the valley to 
open ! 

A break in the wood showed us the evening shadows 
high on the opposite mountain. The air was already damp 
and chill, and the open, level portion of the Park was yet 
two miles distant. All at once the trail entered a meadow 
of deep grass, two acres in extent, and our leader dis- 
mounted under a clump of trees. Mr. Beard and myself 
rolled out of our saddles, ungirthed, turned the animals 
loose, and then threw ourselves down before the fire (which 
had been immediately kindled), too fatigued to be very 
conscious of rest. It was very fortunate that Mr. Sumner 
has a talent for cooking ; had the meal depended on either 
of us, I fear it would have been of the u square " order. 
A pot of coffee — hot, black, and strong — soon circulated 
among us, a veritable lubricating oil to stiff joints, and an 
anodyne to bruised muscles. 

There were no songs and stories around the camp-fire. 
Each one made haste to find a portion of the earth's sur- 
face as little lumpy as possible, and dispose his blankets 
with a view to warmth and comfort. The artist and I 
united our stock of bedding, and I added a mattress of fir 
boughs, but we had little comfort during the night. The 
mosquitoes were plentiful, the noises of the animals dis- 
turbed us, and toward morning it became wretchedly cold. 
The meadow was flooded with splendid moonlight, ami 
whenever I opened my eyes on the mysterious mazes of 
light and gloom in the depth of the forest, I became ex- 
cited and restless. It seemed a long while until the chilly 
dawn arrived ; but then, the last nap I took, while some- 
body else was kindling the fire, refreshed me more than all 
the broken Bleep of the night. 



XII. 

ADVENTURES IN THE MIDDLE PARK. 

Camp :near Blue River, Middle Park, July 1, 1866. 

Our first morning in camp found us sore, stiff, and but 
half refreshed after the hardships of crossing the Pass. 
Nevertheless, we breakfasted, saddled, packed, and got 
under way with alacrity, encouraged by the prospect of 
a restorative bath at the Hot Springs, which are said to 
heal all sorts of ailments, bring the hair to bald heads, and 
put new blood into old veins. 

The trail bore away to the left of Frazer River, over 
gently undulating ground, still wooded ; but the trees were 
smaller, the soil dry, and the increasing gleams of sky 
through the topmost boughs indicated that we were getting 
out of the mountains. On the way we found a geranium 
— pink, veined with purple ; a beautiful orchid, almost 
identical with the cyclamen of Italy and Greece ; violets ; 
rose-colored pogonias, with a delicate, peach-blossom odor ; 
and huge beds of a snow-white, golden-hearted star-flower. 
The occasional openings among the pines were natural 
gardens, which I regretted to see trampled upon by the 
hoofs of our beasts. 

After riding thus for half an hour, there was an exclama- 
tion from the foremost of the party. The long, long forest 
was at an end ; we found ourselves at the head of a superb 
meadow stretching westward for five or six miles ; bounded 
on the north, first by low gray hills of fantastic shape, then 
by great green ascending slopes of forest, and above all, 
jagged ranges of rock and snow. On the south were low 



ADVENTURES IN THE MIDDLE PARK. 89 

swells of pine and aspen, near at hand ; twenty miles be- 
hind them detached spurs of mountains, conspicuous among 
which rose a lofty wedge-like peak. Although on the Pa- 
cific slope of the Rocky Mountains, the dividing ridge, or 
water-shed between the two oceans, embraced us on three 
sides. The main chain meanders through Colorado in a 
curiously tortuous course. It comes down the west side of 
the North Park (which is drained by the head-waters of 
the North Platte) ; then turns directly eastward, separating 
the North from the Middle Park ; then southward, bound- 
ing the Middle Park (the waters of which flow to the Col- 
orado and the Californian Gulf) on the east ; then due west- 
ward, dividing the Middle from the South Park (which 
collects and unites the waters of the South Platte) ; and 
finally, after making an abrupt curve around the head- wa- 
ters of the Arkansas, strikes southward toward New Mexico. 
The Parks form a very remarkable feature of the mountain 
region. They resemble, on a smaller scale, the lofty, moun- 
tain-bounded table-lands of Cashmere and Thibet. They 
are still but imperfectly explored, and still more imperfectly 
represented on the maps. I have not been able to find any 
minute description of their scenery, soil, and climate ; 
hence, every step of the present journey has been full of 
interest. In fact, none of the accounts of travel among 
the Pocky Mountains seem to me to present their individ- 
uality, as mountains, very distinctly — to discriminate be- 
tween what is original, and peculiar to them, and those 
general features which all mountain regions possess in 
common. Each day, thus far, has brought me its new- 
surprises ; but I shall content myself, at present, with giv- 
ing the details of the journey. 

The change from the forest to this meadow was that from 
confinement to liberty. Our animals seemed to feel it also, 
and trotted forward briskly through the thick green grass. 
Near the head of the meadow we passed a large hav-staek 
and squatter's shanty, where the horses pastured in the 



90 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

Park are fed during the winter. Only one man — Jones, 
who discovered the new pass — has attempted to establish 
a ranche. He has sowed sixty acres of grain on the lower 
part of Grand River, but White informs me that the attempt 
does not promise much. The average level of the Park 
above the sea cannot be less than eight thousand feet. 
Although the extreme of cold is not so great as in Denver, 
the winter is so long, and the summer nights so cool, that 
it is doubtful whether grain (except barley and oats) can 
be raised. 

My lean mare was evidently not adequate to the task ; 
so White, catching sight of a herd of horses and mules, 
near the further end of the meadow, promised me an Indian 
pony in exchange, and rode off in advance to drive in the 
herd. The animals, like those we had taken from Empire, 
belong to Charley Utter, whom we had hoped to have as a 
companion for the journey ; but he had joined the rush of 
gold-hunters for Bear River (a hundred miles west of the 
Middle Park), and had not yet returned. Mr. Beard, also, 
groaned over his McClellan saddle, and the gait of his mule. 
We both, therefore, looked forward with some impatience 
to the noonday halt. 

After crossing a number of swift, swollen streams which 
came down from the left, we reached a higher and dryer 
part of the meadow, and the strong, juicy grass gave place 
to sage-bush and flowers — a plain of silver-gray, sprinkled 
with a myriad minute dots of color. The odor which filled 
the air was so exquisite as slightly to intoxicate the senses. 
For miles I seemed to be riding through a Turkish bazaar, 
and inhaling the mingled scent of cloves, sandal-wood, and 
attar of roses. My aches and cramps were forgotten : I 
swam in an atmosphere of balm, half narcotized with the 
rich, voluptuous delight of breathing it. 

White started up a very large fox, which was cunning 
enough to keep out of rifle-range. We skirted the wood 
on the left, and left the meadow for a low, dry plateau, 



ADVENTURES IN THE MIDDLE PARK. 91 

which was one mile-long bed of blue larkspurs and scarlet 
star-wort. The grazing animals had been added to our 
caballada, and we sped merrily along the trail, increasing 
the breadth and sweep of our panoramic landscapes, as we 
penetrated deeper into the hilly region. I exchanged my 
mare for a tough little yellow Indian pony, barefooted, but 
nimble and intelligent: after inspecting me with his nose, 
and apparently finding no objection, he established confi- 
dential relations at once, and has served me, thus far, with 
unswerving fidelity. 

It was a singular country through which we rode, and I 
regret that I am not able to describe its geological char- 
acter. Hills wooded with aspen, and narrow, grassy dells, 
alternated with wide sweeps of irregular table-land, treeless 
and bare, except for a growth of sage and larkspur. The 
valleys of the larger streams which thread the Middle Park 
were shut out from view, but the distant cincture of Alpine 
summits met the eye, in every direction. We rode twenty 
miles, — two thirds of the distance to the Hot Springs, — 
made a brief noon-camp beside a brook, and then pushed 
forward again toward a lofty range of hills which arose be- 
fore us. 

Gradually, all the eastern portion of the Park came into 
view. I readily distinguished the Berthoud Pass, as well 
as that at the head of Clear Creek, and could roughly meas- 
ure by the eye both their elevation above the Park and 
the character of the approaches which they offer for a rail- 
road. On this side of the mountains there seems to be no 
difficulty, except such as might arise from heavy snows 
during the winter. To the northeast Mr. Byers pointed 
out the Bowlder Pass, which rises above the timber line, 
but is almost bare of snow. It is practicable for wagons, 
but is very little travelled. An isolated chimney rock, two 
or three hundred feet in height, stands like a beacon on the 
very summit of this pass. 

I can add to my own Mr. Beard's testimony as to the 



92 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

originality of the Park scenery, in an artistic point of view. 
The features are large and broad, with outlines to some 
extent fantastic, yet not inharmonious. In color, gray pre- 
dominates, but a gray most rare in landscape, — silvery over 
the sage-plains, greenish and pearly along the slopes of 
bunch-grass, and occasionally running into red where the 
soil shows through the thin vegetation. • In the grand views 

— fifty miles in extent — from the ridge we were climbing, 
there were no positive tints, but the most delicate and sur- 
prising succession of broad half-tints, to which sunshine 
and cloud-shadows lent the loveliest effect. The brush 
only can describe landscapes so new in character. I found 
myself thinking of Central Asia, — of the regions of Ko- 
kand and Kashgar, as I imagine them to be. From this 
point, there were no forests, except aspen groves, on the 
crests of the hills ; the gray undulations swept into the 
distance, dipping here and there into hollows of singular 
form, and leaning, far away, against the feet of mountain- 
ranges, where there was the faint green glimmer of a mead- 
ow at the foot of every snowy ravine. The flushed snows 
of the farther summits did not seem lofty and inaccessible, 

— our own elevation reduced the highest of them to less 
than seven thousand feet, — but their irregular character and 
great variety of outline gave the true background for such 
landscapes. 

The animals occasioned us much trouble during this 
day's journey. Our little black pack-mule, Peter, has a 
diabolical knack of shifting his load, so that the proper 
balance is lost, and the pack-saddle turns. On one of 
these occasions, while White and I were engaged in re- 
packing, Mr. Beard rode up and offered his services. It was 
fortunate that we did not need them, for he afterward con- 
fessed that he had tried to dismount, and (in consequence 
of the previous day's hardships) was unable to do so. I 
was in scarcely better plight, but had no reason to com- 
plain ; I had been wishing for severe physical fatigue, and 



ADVENTURES IN THE MIDDLE PARK. 93 

now I have it in abundance. We were obliged to drive 
with us an Arapahoe mare, belonging to the new herd, and 
a more outrageous creature never grazed. By some sort 
of animal magnetism, she immediately took command of 
all our horses and mules, and yet never lost an opportunity 
of biting, kicking, and driving them from the trail. The 
more violent her behavior toward them, the more they 
were fascinated with her. Her vicious eyes were always on 
the lookout ; while we watched her all was quiet, but the 
moment we became absorbed in scenery or some topic of 
conversation, she would dash at one of the animals and 
break up the line of march. White confessed that she had 
exasperated him to such a pitch that he shot at her, and 
was now sorry that he missed. 

Gradually climbing the hills, among beds of crimson and 
violet lupins, scarlet star-flowers, and many showy unknown 
plants, we came at last to a divide, whence the trail sloped 
down to the valley of Grand River at the Hot Springs, now 
four miles distant. Mr. Byers pointed out a bluff, covered 
with scattering clumps of red cedar, as the objective point 
of our day's journey. On our right towered a lofty ridge, 
thrusting out buttresses of perpendicular rock, crowned 
with pines ; and beyond the Grand River arose a similar, 
but much grander and more abrupt formation. Between 
the two the river issued, winding away westward among 
green, interlocking hills, until we could only guess its gate- 
way out of the Park among some snow-peaks, thirty or forty 
miles away. 

The prospect of a sulphur-bath helped us over the re- 
mainder of the way, and in another hour we dismounted 
in a meadow on the banks of the Grand River, directly 
opposite to the Hot Springs. Mr. Byers looked at the 
stream, and meditated ; White did the same thing. It was 
fluid ice (for coldness), forty or fifty yards wide, swift as an 
arrow, and evidently too deep to ford. On the opposite 
bank we saw a rough log-cabin, on a little knoll, and a 



94 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

stream of white, smoking water tumbling down a rock, ten 
feet high, in a smoking pool below. Forms were moving 
among some cotton-woods on the river bottom ; their red 
blankets announced that they were Indians. While we 
were hesitating, some rheumatic eremite whom White 
knew, came down to the bank, and with much difficulty 
shouted across above the roar of the water, that it was im- 
possible to cross ; we must go eight miles higher up the 
river. (But eight miles on the opposite side meant fifteen 
on ours.) Two of us, at least, were in no mood to remount 
that day, and the rest of the party did not seem very en- 
thusiastic. 

It was finally decided that we should camp where we 
were, and those who wished to visit the Hot Springs should 
swim the river. White and I stripped to our shirts and 
drawers, mounted our animals bare-backed, and rode down 
to the water. While we were trying to force them in, they 
refusing with all their might, we were again hailed from the 
other side, and warned against making the attempt. A 
short distance below us the river entered a canon, and be- 
came a cataract. This fact, combined with the fearful 
coldness and swiftness of the current, made us pause. It 
was no doubt well that we did so, — well that we silently 
turned and rode back to the camp. All I can say of the 
Hot Springs, therefore, is, that they gush from the earth in 
a stream almost large enough to turn a mill ; that they 
make a smoking cascade, with a hot pool below ; that they 
are said to work wonderful cures ; and that two gentlemen 
dispute the priority of preempting them. 

There we were, on the bare plain, without a tree for shel- 
ter, our only fuel the rubbish left from former camp-fires, 
and a black thunder-storm coming up. Turning the horses 
loose to drag their lariats and graze, we first kindled a fire, 
and then set about securing our baggage from the rain. 
Forming a sort of platform with fragments of wood, we 
placed our blankets and sacks thereon, and covered them 



ADVENTURES IN THE MIDDLE PARK. 95 

with india-rubber cloth. Mr. Beard was at great pains to 
find a place for his umbrella under the water-proof; and 
not until the storm was over, leaving us half -soaked, did it 
occur to him that he might have used it! Fortunately, 
there was more wind and thunder than rain, and the su- 
perb indigo-gray of the mountains in shadow repaid us for 
the drenching. Toward evening, it became very evident 
that the Arapahoe mare was slyly leading our animals out 
of our view, in order to make off with them. White trudged 
away through the wet grass and brought them back ; but 
it was necessary, moreover, to catch and picket the mare. 

It was easier to decide that this should be done, than to 
do it. The mare was separated from the other animals, 
and driven into a corner of the meadow between the river 
and the bluffs at the entrance of the canon. One of the 
gentlemen then took his stand above, while White cau- 
tiously approached with a lariat. Skill and strategy were 
alike in vain ; with a whirl and a dash she avoided the fly- 
ing noose, and shot off between her pursuers. Others went 
to the rescue, and the scene soon became very exciting. 
All the other horses and mules left off grazing, drew near, 
and watched the contest with the most absorbed interest. 
It was perfectly evident that they understood this was to 
be a test of power, settling the question whether they were 
to be ruled by us or the mare. They were politicians on 
the fence, and reminded us of newspapers and individuals, 
who and which shall be nameless. To watch them was to 
me the most interesting part of the spectacle ; they fol- 
lowed every movement of men and mare, standing knee- 
deep in rich grass which they never thought of cropping. 
It was nearly an hour before the provoking beast was finally 
cornered, noosed, and tied to a tree. The other animals 
then turned away and went to their grazing, paying not 
the slightest heed to her. She was nobody, now that she 
could no longer kick nor patronize. Then I thought of 
certain political Leaders. 



96 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

White's rage was not yet allayed. He took a piece of 
sapling, and laid it heavily on the mare's hide. Then he 
came back and sat down by the fire, declaring that she 
should have no pasture that night. Half an hour passed ; 
the rest of the herd were luxuriating on the meadow, while 
the culprit, sore and hungry, hung her head dejectedly be- 
side the tree. White arose, stole quietly away, made a 
picket, brought the mare down to the meadow, and fastened 
her in good pasture. " She looked kind o' pitiful," he said. 

We made our bed on the wet earth, expecting to be 
rained upon during the night ; but the heavens were mer- 
ciful, and we enjoyed sound and tolerably dry sleep. I 
experienced three distinct electric shocks, probably from 
the fact that I was insulated by the india-rubber cloth upon 
which I lay, and then touched the earth with my hand. 
On the snowy ranges persons are sometimes so charged, 
that there are sparks and crackling sounds at every move- 
ment of their bodies. Men unacquainted with the phe- 
nomenon imagine that bees have gotten into their hair and 
that rattlesnakes are at their heels. Many strange stories 
are told of the effect of the fluid, which seems to manifest 
itself in an eccentric but not a dangerous form. 



XIII. 

THE UTE PASS, MIDDLE PARK. 

Breckenridge, Blue Biver, July 2, 1866. 

"We arose from our moist couch on the banks of Grand 
River, to find the stream still rising, and a thick mist, fore- 
boding rain, spread over the face of the earth. Mr. Byers's 
friend, Dr. Wharton, who was encamped at the Springs, 
came down to the opposite bank, and some notes, tied to 
stones, were exchanged. I received in this way a pink 
malva, which made the airy journey without damage. Our 
further route gave rise to a serious consultation. In three 
days more I had appointed to be in Breckenridge, at the 
head of Blue River, about seventy-five miles from the 
Springs. There was no probability that we could ford the 
Blue, in the present swollen condition of all the mountain 
streams, and the regular trail lay beyond that river. We 
were aware, indeed, that the Ute Indians made use of 
another trail on this side, striking directly across the Mid- 
dle Park (the diameter of which is nearly a hundred 
miles), but none of our party had ever traversed it, or 
knew anything about it beyond the rumor that it was ex- 
ceedingly difficult and dangerous. 

Yet there was no alternative — we were limited to the 
choice of this unknown route. It was a matter of great 
regret that we had foiled in reaching the Hot Springs, and 
I proposed to start for Breckenridge in company with 
White, leaving the rest of the party to cross the Grand at 
the upper ford if they preferred. They decided, however, 
that we should keep together, and we made immediate 
preparations for departure. 
7 



98 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

We first retraced our trail for two miles or more, then, 
turning westward, crossed a high ridge wooded with aspen, 
and descended toward the Grand over aromatic slopes of 
sage-bush. The mist rolled into clouds and hid all the 
higher mountains from view, — which I greatly regretted, 
as from this point we might have seen the Rabbit-Ears — 
two remarkable Alpine horns on the western border of the 
North Park. We struck the Grand in the canon below 
the Springs, and for some distance the path was notched 
along the side of a fir-wooded steep, over the roaring flood. 
Small brooks, invisible under dense willow thickets, came 
down on our left, making deep side-dells in the bluff. It 
was not very far, however, before the canon opened, reveal- 
ing a broad gray landscape, through which the Grand could 
be traced into the distance by its belt of cotton-woods. 

We rode forward over what is called the " second bot- 
tom " — a low table-land, rising into hills a mile from the 
river, covered with a uniform growth of silvery sage, and 
dotted with grazing antelope. The sun came out, the mist 
arose from the snowy ranges, and all aspects were cheerful 
except the company of the Arapahoe mare, which, thank 
Heaven ! was not to last long. We heard the cry of an 
eagle circling in the air over our heads, and had not pro- 
ceeded half a mile further before we discovered an eagle's 
nest in the top of a cotton-wood, just under the edge of the 
bluff. We were able to ride within a hundred feet and 
look into it. Three eaglets — awkward, owlish creatures, 
completely covered w T ith thick gray down — sat on the 
edges of the nest, which was a huge structure of sticks, 
and yelped piteously. It was a rare piece of good fortune 
for all of us, none of whom had ever seen (and probably 
will never see again) an eagle's nest with the brood in it. 
Mr. Beard, with the aid of a good glass, made a permanent 
acquisition ; and when his picture is exhibited, I can testify- 
that he paints what he has seen. 

Williams Fork, — or, as it is better called, Roaring Fork, 



THE UTE PASS, MIDDLE PARK. 99 

— a large affluent of the Grand, now announced itself in 
front, by the tops of its timber rising above the bluff. It 
was also much swollen, and the fording was a matter of 
some difficulty. Mr. Byers, as usual, led the way, breast- 
ing the icy water, which, striking his horse's side, almost 
swept over its back. We all took an extremely cold leg- 
bath, and my pony came within an ace of being carried 
down the stream. On the opposite bank we divided our 
party, White taking the spare animals (including the Ara- 
pahoe mare) to Charley Utter's cabin, five miles further 
down the Grand, while the rest of us determined to try the 
Ute trail, up the west bank of Roaring Fork. This ar- 
rangement would save us several miles of the journey, as 
White, on his strong mule, could easily rejoin us during 
the afternoon. Somewhere ahead of us lay the famous 
moss-agate region, which we were especially desirous of 
visiting, each one having his private hopes of jewelry for 
wife or sweetheart. 

The soil on the narrow bottoms of Roaring Fork is the 
purest humus, producing grass of astonishing rankness and 
richness, which our animals snapped at with crazy eager- 
ness. We had not proceeded a mile, however, before our 
way was barred by an abrupt mountain, through the centre 
of which the stream forced its way, in a narrow, rock-walled 
slit — a canon (funnel) in the strictest sense of the word. 
The trail led us into this cleft, taking the very edge of a 
precipice two hundred feet in perpendicular depth, where 
there was barely room for our horses to set their hoofs. 
Under us the river was a mass of foam : opposite — not a 
stone's throw across — rose the jagged walls of dark-red 
rock, terminating in fantastic pinnacles. It was an excit- 
ing passage, not unmixed with fear, especially when the 
disarrangement of a saddle in advance forced Mr. Heard 
and myself to halt for five minutes in the narrowest part 
of the pass, where portions of the rock under us had crum- 
bled away. 



100 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

A valley succeeded ; then a second and loftier range, 
where the dividing canon disclosed the most singular for- 
mations of rock — natural fortresses and towers. One trail 
wound away to the right ; another (possibly an old elk- 
path) seemed to lead directly into the gorge. The former 
was preferable, on account of the pack-mules ; but Mr. 
McCandless and myself determined to try the latter, be- 
lieving that we might gain in time what we lost in labori- 
ous travel. The ascent was so steep, that we could with 
difficulty keep our foothold in climbing ; and it was won- 
derful to see the confidence which the horses had in our 
leadership and the dexterity with which they followed us. 
My pony used his hoofs as I did my hands, taking hold of 
grass-tufts and projections of rock, and resting with his 
nose on my shoulder when I stopped to take breath. Huge, 
detached masses of rock and bushes prevented our having 
a good view of the chasm, but the general wildness and 
picturesqueness of the scenery was an ample repayment 
for our toil. From the highest part of the Pass another 
grand gray landscape opened to the southward, magnifi- 
cently bounded by a dark-green mountain chain, every 
summit of which was a jagged pyramid of snow. 

After half an hour of rather laborious scrambling, I 
reached the grassy meadow beyond the canon. Looking 
back, I saw the others of the party slowly creeping over a 
mountain ridge a mile or more to the west. I thereupon 
struck a diagonal course, and presently came upon the 
Indian trail, on the "second bottom." Here the ground 
was strewn with rough agates, but with all my search I 
. could find no mossy specimens. When the others arrived, 
in the course of half an hour, I found that their experience 
had been precisely similar. Our dreams of complete sets 
of jewelry diminished to a single brooch or ring, and then 
faded into the thin atmosphere of disappointed hopes. 
None of us found a single moss-agate. 

Here and there on the trail we could detect the marks 



THE UTE PASS, MIDDLE PARK. 101 

of lodge-poles, which, we supposed, were made by the Utes 
in passing from Blue to Grand River. As this was our 
only guidance through the unknown portion of the Park, 
we followed it, although its general direction seemed too 
much east of south. The mountain range in front was 
apparently a spur thrust out from the south into the very 
heart of the Park, and we must cross it in order to reach 
the Valley of Blue River. The government maps were of 
no assistance, — they omitted the mountains, and inserted 
streams which have no existence. Directly in front of us 
towered a splendid peak, not less than fourteen thousand 
feet in height ; and there seemed to be no practicable pass 
across the range except immediately on either side of it : so 
long, therefore, as our trail tended toward it, we could not 
go very far astray. It was about twenty miles to the base 
of the range, the intermediate country being a mixture of 
rich, grassy valleys, sage-clad table-land, and picturesque, 
broken hills, flecked with groves of aspen and fir. 

We started up several sage-hens, with their broods of 
young. They are a kind of grouse, about the size of the 
prairie-chicken, and of gray, mottled plumage. Their color 
seems to be their chief protection, as was shown by their 
reliance upon it. The young birds scarcely took the 
trouble to get out of our way, and one of them was caught 
sitting under a sage-bush, and looking with bright, un- 
shrinking eyes directly in the face of its captor. Of course 
we did not shoot the hens, — an act of self-denial (our salt 
fare being considered) which ought to be set down to our 
credit. Ere long we reached meadows again, threaded by 
swift tributary brooks of the Roaring Fork. The passage 
of these streams, small as they were, gave us some trouble, 
owing to the treacherous character of the soil. Mr. Beard's 
mule went down and rolled over upon him, pinning him 
fast in the mud, and my pony only avoided a like disaster 
by his great shrewdness and agility. 

At one o'clock we camped on the banks of a brook, and 



102 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

our fishers immediately got their gear in readiness for 
trout. Two of us determined on a bath in spite of mos- 
quitoes and ice-water ; and while a portion of the party 
were playing leap-frog solitaire, in the search for grasshop- 
per bait, another portion landing an occasional diminutive 
fish, and the remainder attempting to dry their tingling 
skins, there was a sudden cry of " How, how ! " across the 
low willow thickets. Indians, with vermilion faces and 
streaming black hair ! There were two braves and squaws, 
mounted, and two pappooses. They crossed to us without 
ceremony, shook hands, and attempted conversation, which 
was not very edifying until we discovered that one of them 
understood a little Spanish. We then learned that they 
were on their way from the Blue to join the remainder of 
their tribe on the head-waters of the Grand ; their chief, 
Colorado, was at Breckenridge, and they thought the rivers 
could be forded. One of the men — who wore, singularly 
enough, an Austrian military coat (from Maximilian's 
army ?) — possessed some tact and discretion. He pre- 
vented the other from going too near our luggage, and 
withdrew with him to a little distance when we sat down 
to our meal. He showed a little curiosity about a satchel 
of mine ; but when I told him it was " medicine," and 
made certain mysterious signs, he seemed satisfied. The 
squaws brought their shy pappooses to look at us — beau- 
tiful beings, all of them, with paint-smeared faces, and 
hideously suggestive hair and blankets. Uncas and Cora, 
— heroes and heroines of romance ! 

Presently another horseman appeared, galloping toward 
us over the hills, from the opposite direction. It was White, 
who, to our great joy, had a sage-hen at his saddle-bow, and 
a supply of antelope-venison for our supper. He. too, had 
crossed a corner of the moss-agate patch, without finding 
any of the jewels. Considerably refreshed by the bath and 
by one delicious trout apiece, (would it had been a dozen !) 
we pushed forward, entering a hilly region, where dense 



THE UTE PASS, MIDDLE PARK. 103 

tracts of woodland alternated with fields of flowers. The 
tracks of elk, deer, and even bear, were frequent, but much 
as our hunters dashed away from the trail, they brought us 
nothing. After some miles, we found ourselves suddenly 
on a bluff, overlooking Roaring Fork, which issued, with 
many a snaky twist, from a stretch of pine forest. Into this 
forest went the trail, so obstructed with fallen timber that 
our progress was an unintermitted series of leaps. We 
outdid all the performances that were ever made with bars 
in the circus-ring. 

On emerging from this wood we found ourselves in the 
loveliest meadow-park, several miles long, opening before 
us directly to the foot of the great snowy peak. A swift 
brook sped down it, under bowery thickets and past clumps 
of trees ; the turf was brilliantly green and spangled with 
flowers ; low hills bounded it on either side, the forests with 
which they were covered sending out irregular capes, and 
arms embracing bays of grass ; and over the sweet pasto- 
ral seclusion towered the Alpine chain, here smitten with 
gold by the sinking sun, there glooming broad and blue 
under the shadows of thunder-clouds. Nothing could have 
been more unexpected than the change from aspen woods 
and silvery hills of sage to this green, pine-enframed, Ar- 
cadian landscape. We made our camp for the night in a 
grove of trees, which our huge fire of pine-logs illuminated 
with magical effect. Moreover, we had fresh meat for the 
first time, couches on a matting of pine needles, the best 
of pasturage for our beasts, and for the first time since 
leaving Empire, enjoyed a feeling of comfort. It rained 
during the night, but the trees made a partial shelter. Our 
day's travel could not have been less than thirty miles. 

It was now very evident that the pass we sought lay to 
the right of the high peak, and that the Valley of the Blue 
was beyond the range. The majestic mountain has no 
name. It is very mar the centre of the Middle Park, and 
its summit must command a view of this whole inclosed 



104 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

region. I therefore suggest that it be called Park Peak 
(rather than such a name as Cummings or Doolittle), and 
— if no one has any objection — will so designate it. 

We soon reached the head of the meadow, where a jungle 
of willow-bushes, threaded by a net-work of streams, lay 
between us and the mountain. The trail was wet and 
boggy, and the dripping boughs through which we forced 
our way, wet us to the skin. Then ensued a horrible scram- 
ble, which lasted for nearly two miles. We either floun- 
dered in mud in the bottom of a glen, climbed over piles 
of fallen timber, or crept up and down slippery, crumbling 
staircases, of loose soil. In such places our pack-mules 
showed a wonderful talent. The skill with which they 
passed between trees, leaped logs, and steadied themselves 
along the edge of ticklish declivities, without disarranging 
their packs, could never be imagined by one who had not 
seen it. We considered these two miles equal to ten of 
good road. The trail gradually improved, and we entered 
a region, which was a perfect reproduction of the moun- 
tain-dells of Saxony. Meadows of velvet turf lay embedded 
in tall, dark forests of fir, which stretched up the slopes 
above us until they formed a fringe against the sky. At 
every winding of the valley, I looked, involuntarily, for the 
old, mossy mill, and the squares of bleaching linen on the 
grass. Snow-drifts made their appearance where the shade 
was deepest, and the few aspens and alders were just put- 
ting forth their leaves. 

This part of the Pass was so beautiful, that we reached 
the summit — much sooner than we expected — almost 
with regret. We had not risen more than a thousand feet 
above the general level of the Park. From the top we 
looked down a narrow, winding glen, between lofty parapets 
of rock, and beheld mountains in the distance, dark with 
shadow, and vanishing in clouds. The descent was steep, 
but not very toilsome. After reaching the bed of the glen, 
we followed it downward through beds of grass and flowers, 



THE UTE PASS, MIDDLE PARK. 105 

under the shade of castellated rocks, and round the feet 
of natural ramparts, until it opened upon wide plains of 
sage-bush, which formed the shelving side of an immense 
valley. The usual line of cotton-wood betrayed a stream, 
and when we caught a glimpse of the water, its muddy tint 
— the sure sign of gold-washing — showed that we had 
found the Blue River. We had crossed the Ute Pass, as 
it is called by the trappers, and are among the first white 
men who have ever traversed it. We now looked on Park 
Peak from the west side. 

Instead of descending to the river, our trail turned south- 
ward, running nearly parallel with its course, near the top 
of the sloping plane which connects the mountains with the 
valley. The sun came out, the clouds lifted and rolled 
away, and one of the most remarkable mountain landscapes 
of the earth was revealed to our view. The Valley of the 
Blue, which, for a length of thirty miles, with a breadth 
varying from five to ten, lay under our eyes, wore a tint of 
pearly silver-gray, upon which the ripe green of the timber 
along the river, and the scattered gleams of water seemed 
to be enamelled. Opposite to us, above this sage-color, rose 
huge mountain-foundations, where the grassy openings were 
pale, the forests dark, the glens and gorges filled with 
shadow, the rocks touched with lines of light — making a 
chequered effect that suggested cultivation and old settle- 
ment. Beyond these were wilder ridges, all forest ; them 
bare masses of rock, streaked with snow, and, highest of 
all, bleak snow-pyramids, piercing the sky. From south to 
north stretched the sublime wall — the western boundary 
of the Middle Park ; and where it fell away toward the 
canon by which Grand River goes forth to seek the Col- 
orado, there was a vision of dim, rosy peaks, a hundred 
miles distant. In breadth of effect — in airy depth and 
expansion — in simple yet most majestic outline, and in 
originality yet exquisite harmony of color, this landscape is 
unlike anything I have ever seen. I feel how inadequate 



106 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

are my words to suggest such new combinations of tints 
and forms. There is greater vertical grandeur among the 
Alps : here it is the vast lateral extent which impresses you, 
together with the atmospheric effect occasioned by great 
elevation above the sea. You stand on the plane of the 
Alpine glaciers ; a new vegetation surrounds you ; a darker 
sky is over your head ; yet the grand picture upon which 
you look is complete in all its parts, or, if any element is 
wanting, its absence is swallowed up in the majesty that is 
present. 

" If Gifford were only here ! " said Beard ; and did not 
take out his own sketch-book. 

We enjoyed this landscape for several miles, until the 
hills, reaching across the valley, formed a canon, to avoid 
which we crossed spurs which shut everything but the 
snowy range. The base of Park Peak, on our right, offered 
many picturesque features ; but I will not attempt to de- 
scribe them. Other snowy summits appeared before us, 
overlooking the head of Blue Biver Valley ; charming val- 
leys opened among the nearer mountains ; yet the remem- 
brance of what we had seen made us indifferent to them. 
In the afternoon we came upon several lodges of Utes, one 
of which I entered, not without misgivings. The occupant 
was a sharp, shrewd Indian, who wanted to trade a buck- 
skin for much more powder than it was worth. There were 
but two men at home, but a number of squaws and chil- 
dren. A herd of rough ponies was grazing near. "We 
found little to interest us, and presently left Mr. Low 
(Low, the poor Indian, as the people here say) to his 
own devices. 

A mile or two further we came to a swift stream, which 
we supposed to be Snake Biver, and the prospect of trout 
was so promising that, after effecting a crossing, we en- 
camped for the night, calculating that we were within fif- 
teen miles of this place. Hunters and fishers went forth, 
while the artist and myself tried both pencil and pen with 



THE UTE PASS, MIDDLE PARK. 107 

little effect. We agreed that we were demoralized by fa- 
tigue, and that lying on our blankets before the fire was 
better than either Art or Literature. 

Though so near Breckenridge, we were not yet out of 
the woods, as my next will show. 



XIV. 

FINAL ADVENTURES IN THE MIDDLE PARK. 

Buckskin Joe, South Park, July 3, 1866. 

When we awoke in our camp, on the banks of the river 
which we supposed to be Snake, yesterday morning, the 
ground was covered with a white frost, and the water re- 
maining in our tin cups was turned to ice. To bathe a sun- 
blistered face on such a morning, is a torture rather than a 
luxury ; yet the air was at once a tonic, a stimulant, and a 
flavor. The peaks across the valley — not much less than 
fifteen thousand feet in height — flashed in rosy splendor ; 
the dew sprinkled with diamonds the silver of the sage- 
fields ; the meadow-larks sang joyously, and our spirits rose 
with the belief that the uncertain portion of our journey 
was nearly over. 

A ride of three miles up the valley brought us to another 
river — a fuller stream than the last, foaming down through 
a wild gap in the mountains on our left. At this place the 
Blue receives a considerable affluent on the opposite side — 
a circumstance which told us precisely where we were. 
The stream where we had encamped is still nameless ; it 
was the Snake which we had now reached. We forded it 
with some difficulty, the water rushing over our saddles, 
and followed a barely discernible trail along the foot of the 
mountains. The Valley of the Blue became narrow, hemmed 
in by the feet of spurs from the main chain. The bottom- 
land was marshy and full of pools, and we were sometimes 
forced to climb around quagmires and fallen timber, at 
points of threatening steepness. Sometimes, also, a slide 



FINAL ADVENTURES IN THE MIDDLE PARK. 109 

of rocks had come down from above, leaving piles over 
which the animals must slowly and cautiously be led. The 
little gray coneys sat on the stones above, and barked at us 
as we passed. 

It is rather difficult to measure distance during travel 
of this kind ; but I suppose we had made about three miles 
after fording Snake River, when the trail — or, rather, 
what was left of it — terminated at the Blue. There were 
signs that the stream had been crossed here, and as we had 
been looking with longing eyes' at the pleasant open bot- 
toms on the other side, we imagined our troubles at an end. 
Mr. McCandless plunged in, his mule breasting the impet- 
uous current, and, after being carried down some yards, 
succeeded in getting out on the other bank. Mr. Byers 
followed, and then the pack-mule, Peter ; but, on reaching 
the centre of the stream both were carried away. I was 
watching the horse, madly endeavoring to swim against the 
current, when there was a sudden call for help. The drift- 
timber had made a raft just below, the force of the stream 
set directly toward it, and horse and rider w r ere being 
drawm, as it appeared, to inevitable destruction. Mr. Sum- 
ner sprang into the water and caught Mr. Byers's hand ; 
but the next moment he was out of his depth, and barely 
succeeded in swimming ashore. 

All this seemed to take place in a second. The river 
made a short curve around a little tongue of land, across 
which we sprang, in time to see Mr. Byers catch at and 
hold the branch of a drifted tree, in passing. In another 
moment he had extricated himself from the saddle. White 
rushed into the water with a lariat, and the danger was 
over. Horse and rider got out separately, without much 
trouble, although the latter was already chilled to the bones 
ami nearly benumbed. The paek-mule, with all our luggage, 
was completely submerged, and we should probably have 
lost everything, had not White grasped the mule's ear at 
the turn of the river, and thus assisted the beast to recover 



110 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

his footing. It was all over before we were clearly aware 
of the full extent of the danger and of our own fears. 

When the wet clothes had been wrung out, and the wet 
pistols fired, we set forward, compelled to follow the east 
bank of the Blue, with no trail. "We had the choice between 
mud-holes and fallen timber, or a steep of loose gravel and 
sliding stones, which defied us to get a firm foothold. 
Thus we worked our way along, with almost incredible la- 
bor, for an hour or more, when we reached an overhanging 
rocky wall, at the foot of which the river foamed and roared 
in a narrow channel. When we had climbed around the 
rocks and reached the mountain side above, a fearful-look- 
ing slant of disintegrated shale, through which a few stunted 
aspen bushes grew, lay before us. One more degree of 
steepness would have made the pass impossible. The 
crumbled rock slid from under our feet, and rattled in 
showers from the brink of the precipice into the water 
below ; and but for the help which the bushes gave us in 
the worst places, we should probably have followed. Messrs. 
Byers and Davis, who were in advance, seemed at times to 
be hanging in the air. In the midst of this pass, a badger 
whisked around the eerier of a rock, tempting one of the 
party to let himsc. ">wc to the edge of the bluff in the 
hope of getting a sh,.„ ;' but the animal was safe in some 
hole or crevice. 

While resting among the roots of a pine-tree, which en- 
abled me also to support my pony, I descried Mr. McCand- 
less riding up the meadows beyond the river, with a mounted 
Indian on each side of him. I noticed, moreover, that the 
latter kept pace with him, and took pains to keep him be- 
tween them. As they were Utes, there was no trouble to 
be feared, and we supposed they were guiding him toward 
Breckenridge. Beyond this perilous corner of the moun- 
tain we found a faint trail, with a promise of better travel 
ahead. Mr. Beard and White were in the rear, and it was 
amusing to watch them follow us, clinging for life to the 



FINAL ADVENTURES IN THE MIDDLE PARK. Ill 

bushes and roots, while their animals, with more than hu- 
man cunning, picked their way step by step, through the 
sliding fragments. 

A mile or two more, and a broad valley opened on our 
left. A very muddy stream — which could be none other 
than Swan River — came down it to join the Blue. Mr. 
McCandless and one of the Indians here rode down to the 
opposite bank and hailed us. The latter was the famous 
Ute chief, Colorado ; he said we could now either ford the 
Blue, or take a good trail to Breckenridge on our side of 
the river. We chose the latter, and presently came in sight 
of Delaware Flats — a collection of log-cabins, across the 
open valley. Leaving them to the left, we struck toward 
another settlement called Buffalo Flats ; both places are 
inhabited by miners engaged in gulch washing. The cattle 
pasturing on the grassy bottoms were a welcome sight, after 
five days of savage Nature. I greeted a young fellow, 
herding mules on horseback, with a very superfluous feel- 
ing of friendship ; for he made a short, surly answer, and 
rode away. 

Being now but four miles from Breckenridge. we spurred 
our weary animals forward, taking a trail which led for a 
long distance through a burned forest T was scenery of 
the most hideous character. Tens ^ jousands of charred 
black poles, striped with white where the bark had sprung 
off, made a wilderness of desolation which was worse than 
a desert. The boughs had been almost entirely consumed ; 
the sunshine and the blue of the sky were split into a myr- 
iad of parallel slices, which fatigued and distracted the eye, 
until one almost became giddy in riding through. I cannot 
recall any phase of mundane scenery so disagreeable as 
this. 

Finally the wood came to an end, and green meadows 
and snowy peaks refreshed our eyes. Over ditches, heaps 
of stone and gravel, and all the usual debris of gulch-min- 
ing, we rode toward some cabins which beckoned to us 



112 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

through scattered clumps of pine. A flag-staff, with some- 
thing white at half-mast ; canvas-covered wagons in the 
shade ; a long street of log-houses ; signs of " Boarding," 
" Miner's Home," and " Saloon," and a motley group of 
rough individuals, among whom we detected the beard of 
our parted comrade and the blanket of the chief — such 
was Breckenridge ! 

The place dates from 1860 — yet, of the five thousand 
miners who flocked to this part of the Middle Park in that 
year, probably not more than five hundred remain. At 
present there is a slight increase of life. Some new cabins 
are going up, and for some distance beyond the limits of 
building one sees lots staked out, and signs displayed,— - 

" Preempted by ." At the first house we reached, 

we found a long table set for dinner, and a barrel of beer 
on tap, which had come over the snowy range from Mont- 
gomery the previous day. The host, Mr. Sutherland, sus- 
pected our impatient hunger, and only delayed the meal 
long enough to add the unexpected delicacy of oyster soup. 
Then, taking the bugle with which he blew the signal for 
the immortal Light Brigade to charge at Balaklava, he 
made the notes of " Peas upon a trencher " ring over the 
shanties of Breckenridge. Since that splendid Crimean 
episode, Mr. Sutherland and his bugle have done loyal ser- 
vice in a Colorado regiment. I was glad of the chance 
which made us almost the first guests of his new establish- 
ment — especially as his bounty in providing equals his 
gallantry in fighting. 

In strolling up the street, after dinner, I discovered that 
the apparent flag of truce at half-mast was in reality a na- 
tional ensign, out of which the mountain rains had washed 
every particle of color. The Stars and Stripes were only 
to be distinguished by the seams. There was comical cause 
of mourning ; the bully of Breckenridge — a German gro- 
cer — had been whipped, the day before, by the bully of 
Buffalo Flats ! The flag-staff is planted in front of a log 



FINAL ADVENTURES IN THE MIDDLE PARK. 113 

court-house. While I was gazing upon the emblem of 
defeat and regret, I noticed two individuals entering the 
building. One was middle-aged, and carried a book under 
his arm ; he wore " store clothes." The other, a lively 
young fellow, with a moustache, sported a flannel shirt. 
The latter reappeared on the balcony, in a moment, and 
proclaimed in a loud voice, — 

" Oh yes ! Oh yes ! The Honorable Probate Court is now 
in session ! " 

Thereupon he withdrew. The announcement produced 
no effect, for he immediately came forth again, and cried, — 

" Oh yes ! Oh yes ! The Honorable Probate Court is now 
adjourned ! " 

I waited, to see the Honorable Probate Court come forth, 
with the book under his arm ; but, instead of that, the lively 
young man made his appearance for the third time, with a 
new announcement, — 

" Oh yes ! Oh yes ! The Honorable Commissioners' Court 
is now in session ! " 

How many other Courts were represented by these two 
individuals, I am unable to say ; but the rapidity and ease 
with which the sessions were held gave me a cheerful im- 
pression of the primitive simplicity and peace of the pop- 
ulation. To be sure, the flag at half-mast hinted of other 
customs ; yet these may not be incompatible with an idyllic 
state of society. 

We discovered a hotel — or its equivalent — kept by 
Mr. and Mrs. Silverthorn, who welcomed us like old friends. 
The walls of their large cabin were covered with newspa- 
pers, and presented a variety of advertisements and local 
news, from New Hampshire to Salt Lake. If the colored 
lithographs on the wall were doubtful specimens of art, 
there were good indications of literature on the table. The 
kind hostess promised us beds, — real beds, with sheets and 
pillows, — and the good host would have taken me to any 
number of lodes and gulch-washings, if I had not been 



114 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

almost too sore to bend a joint. I barely succeeded in 
going far enough to inspect a patch of timothy grass, grown 
from the wild seed of the mountains. It is a slight experi- 
ment, but enough to show what may be made of those por- 
tions of the Middle Park which are too cold for grain. 
The residents of the place profess to be delighted with the 
climate, although there is no month in the year without 
frost, and the winter snow is frequently three or four feet 
in depth. They have very little sickness of any kind, and 
recover from wounds or hardships with a rapidity unknown 
elsewhere. I was informed that the Honorable Probate 
and Commissioners' Court once tumbled down a fearful 
precipice, and was picked up a mass of fractures and dis- 
locations — yet here he was, good for several sessions a 
day! 

Our friends, Byers and Sumner, were so chilled to the 
marrow by their adventure in the Blue River, that neither 
the subsequent ride, nor dinner, nor the hot noonday sun, 
could warm their benumbed bodies. They therefore built 
a fire in the adjoining wood, and lay beside it nearly all the 
afternoon. I would gladly have joined them, but for the 
duty of recording our journey, and the task which awaited 
me in the evening. The court-house, to my surprise, was 
filled with an attentive and intelligent audience, and I re- 
gretted that I was unable to comply with their request that 
I should recite Mrs. Norton's poem of " Bingen." 

There had been some doubt concerning the practicability 
of the pass across the main chain to Montgomery, which is 
in the South Park, on the head-waters of the South Platte ; 
but in the afternoon Mr. Matthews arrived, having ridden 
from Buckskin Joe to pilot us over. This is called, I be- 
lieve, the Hoosier Pass ; a little to the east of it is the Tarry- 
all Pass, from Hamilton to Breckenridge, which is traversed 
by vehicles, even during the winter. There is also a direct 
trail from Breckenridge to Georgetown, near the head of 
Snake River. Without doubt other and probably better 



FINAL ADVENTURES IN THE MIDDLE PARK. 115 

points for crossing the mountains will be found, when they 
are more thoroughly explored. 

Mrs. Silverthorn kept her promise. When the artist and 
myself found ourselves stretched out in a broad feather- 
bed, with something softer than boots under our heads, we 
lay awake for a long time in delicious rest, unable to sleep 
from the luxury of knowing what a perfect sleep awaited 
us. Every jarred bone and bruised muscle claimed its own 
particular sensation of relief, and I doubted, at last, whether 
unconsciousness was better than such wide-awake fulness 
of rest. 

I shall always retain a very pleasant recollection of 
Breckenridge, and shall henceforth associate its name with 
the loyal divine, not the traitor politician. 



XV. 

TWO ROCKY MOUNTAIN PASSES. 

Oro City, Colorado, July 4, 1866. 

We deserved no credit for early rising at Breckenridge. 
The room wherein we slept was also a family-room, dining- 
room, and parlor, and the ladies of the house could not 
properly set the breakfast-table in the presence of four gen- 
tlemen in shirts. So we issued forth early, to find a white 
frost on the meadows and a golden glitter of snow all 
around the brightest of morning skies. Among the Alps, 
such a morning is a rare godsend ; here, it is almost a 
matter of course. Whatever effect the climate of the Rocky 
Mountain region may have upon the permanent' settlers, 
there is no doubt that for travellers it is one of the most 
favorable in the world. It takes fat from the corpulent 
and gives it to the lean ; it strengthens delicate lungs, and 
paints pallid faces with color ; and in spite of " thin air and 
alkali water," it invigorates every function of the system. 
I doubt whether any of us, at home, could have ventured 
on wading in the snow, being ducked in ice-water, and 
camping on the damp earth with the same impunity. 

We still followed up the Blue Eiver, now so diminished 
that its clear, swift waters had no power to stop our prog- 
ress. After passing through dilapidated forests of fir and 
pine for an hour, the trail entered a sloping mountain 
meadow, several miles long, with a vista of shining peaks 
at either end. New flowers — turquoise-blue, purple, and 
yellow — sprinkled the turf; the air was filled with resin- 
ous odors, and the sunshine had just sufficient power to 



TWO ROCKY MOUNTAIN PASSES. 117 

take the icy edge off the air and make it fresh and inspir- 
ing. The trail, for the most part, was dry and firm, and 
our travel became something more of a luxury than it had 
been during the previous days. 

Near the head of the valley, immediately under the 
snowy ridge, there was a great tract which the gold-washers 
had gone over with unsparing hand. It must have been 
a rich placer, for two or three inhabited cabins remain, and 
there were signs of recent labor. The snow-drifts lay thick 
all around, the grass was just beginning to shoot, and the 
three-months' summer of the higher ranges, during which 
only gold-washing can be carried on, had barely made its 
appearance. The residents were absent (probably pros- 
pecting), and there was no living creature to be seen, ex- 
cept a forlorn donkey. 

Beyond this spot we came unexpectedly upon the sum- 
mit of the pass. Our ascent from Breckenridge had been 
very gradual, and we had not guessed the great elevation 
of the latter place above the sea-level. This route has 
been surveyed, and our guide, Mr. Matthews, pointed out 
the stakes from time to time with great satisfaction. The 
top of the pass is a little below the timber line, and the 
stake there is marked " 11,000 feet." The average ascent 
on the south side is ninety feet to the mile, while the de- 
scent on the north only averages seventy feet. The build- 
ing of a railroad would not be attended with the slightest 
difficulty. This pass, dividing the Middle from the South 
Park, is, as I have explained in a former letter, also the 
water-shed between the Atlantic and Pacific. The grand 
off-shoots of the main chain of the Rocky Mountains, so 
numerous and so lofty, are apt to lead the eye astray, and 
give an impression of difficulties, which disappear on a 
closer acquaintance with the region. The first entrance of 
the Pacific Railroad into the mountains will be found, I 
suspect, quite as difficult as the passage of the dividing 
ridge. 



118 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

We halted on the summit, to enjoy the narrow but very 
striking views into the opposite Parks. Northward, we 
looked down the long green meadow, with its inclosing 
slopes of forest, to a line of snow-clad peaks in the middle 
distance, and then a higher and fainter line, rosily flushed, 
a hundred miles away — the northern wall of the Park. 
Southward, the valley of the Platte, a deep gray-green 
trough, curving out of sight among the lower ranges, bore 
a striking resemblance to the upper valley of the Saco, as 
you look upon it from Mount Willard. Beyond it, the in- 
creasing dimness of each line of mountains told of broad, 
invisible plains between ; and the farther peaks, scarcely 
to be detached from the air, were the merest Alpine phan- 
toms. Directly to the west of us, however, rose a knot of 
tremendous snowy steeps, crowned by a white, unbroken 
cone. This is Mount Lincoln, believed to be the highest 
point in Colorado. The estimates vary between fifteen and 
eighteen thousand feet ; but the most trustworthy measure- 
ment — which also corresponds with its apparent elevation 
above the pass — is sixteen thousand six hundred feet. 
Later in the season, it can be ascended without much dif- 
ficulty. 

It is fortunate that this prominent summit is so appro- 
priately named. It is the central point from which at least 
four snowy ranges radiate, is one thousand feet higher than 
any peak which has yet been measured, and the view from 
its snowy apex can hardly be drawn with a shorter radius 
than one hundred and fifty miles. Although not standing 
alone like the volcanic cones of Oregon, but in the midst 
of a sublime Alpine world, it yet asserts its supremacy, and 
its huge, wintry buttresses form a prominent feature in the 
landscapes of the South Park. 

We now turned to the right, in order to visit Mont- 
gomery, which lies on the very head-waters of the South 
Platte, at the foot of Mount Lincoln, whose rocky sides are 
veined with the richest ores. In less than a mile after 



TWO ROCKY MOUNTAIN PASSES. 119 

leaving the top of the pass, we saw the neat little town 
lying below us, and could detect the signs of mining all 
around and above it. I had a surfeit of mining plans and 
prospects in Central City, and will only say that the people 
of Montgomery are just as sanguine as those of the former 
place, and their ores, so far as I could judge from speci- 
mens, are just as rich and abundant. It would interest 
those who own stock in the North Star, the Pioneer, and 
other companies, if I should minutely describe their sepa- 
rate lodes ; but most of my readers, I presume, will be 
satisfied with the general statement that the wealth of 
Colorado has not been, and cannot easily be, exaggerated. 

Descending a long and toilsome declivity to the town, 
we drew up at the post-office. Friendly hands took charge 
of our animals, and a dinner was promised in commemora- 
tion of our return to the Atlantic side of the Rocky Moun- 
tains. Mr. Valiton, I am glad to say, has become a thor- 
ough American in everything but his knowledge of cookery ; 
and the repast he furnished us, although commencing with 
oyster soup and ending with peaches, bore no resemblance 
to the dreary fare served up in most of our hotels. When 
it was over, and we were enjoying the pipe of peace in the 
sun, the intelligent company of Mr. Rev, formerly Consul 
of France at Montevideo, and several American gentlemen, 
gave an air of refinement and ancient culture to the place. 
It required an effort to recall the fact that I was in the 
wildest nook, the very heart, of the Rocky Mountains. 

Montgomery, like Breckenridge, is a deserted town. It 
once had a population of three thousand, and now numbers 
three or four hundred. But as the cabins of those who left 
speedily became the firewood of those who remained, there 
are no apparent signs of decay. On the contrary, the place 
seems to be growing a little, and as soon as the " new proc- 
ess" is satisfactorily ascertained, it will shoot up into 
permanent importance. We had only time to make our 
nooning there, my place of destination being Buckskin Joe, 
eight miles further. 



120 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

We rode five miles down the South Platte, then climbed 
over one of the many insteps of Mount Lincoln, into a nar- 
rower valley, running westward along the base. Near its 
head, ten thousand feet above the sea, lies the town of the 
lovely name — a somewhat larger and more active place 
than Montgomery. The people, for the space of two or 
three years, made a desperate attempt to change the name 
to " Laurette," which is slightly better ; but they failed 
completely, and it will probably be Buckskin Joe to the 
end of time. At least, it is not a " City " — which, in Col- 
orado, is quite an honorable distinction. There are worse 
names in California than this, and worse places. If I failed 
to find a blacksmith, and my barefooted pony must go 
unshod, we had a carpeted room at the Pacific House, an 
audience of near a hundred collected in the evening, and 
everything was done to make my visit comfortable. These 
remote, outlying mining communities have made a most 
agreeable impression upon every member of our party. 
The horde of more or less ignorant adventurers having 
drifted away to Montana and Idaho, those who remain are 
for the most part men of education and natural refinement, 
and their hospitality is a favor in a double sense. 

In the evening there was a dismal fall of mingled snow 
and rain, and I found a fire necessary for comfort. The 
bare slopes around the village were white for an hour after 
sunrise. We were here joined by Mr. Thomas, of Chicago, 
who came from Denver with a mule-team, and brought us 
late news from the world and letters from home. This 
morning we took leave of White, who started for Empire 
with our faithful pack-mules. The latter were a plague at 
times, with all their service, and we are not sorry to be rid 
of them ; but I miss White's honest blue eyes. 

There are two roads from Buckskin Joe to this place, 
one practicable only in midsummer for horses, directly 
over a lofty spur of the snowy range ; the other a rough 
wagon-trail, which goes down the Platte twelve or fifteen 



TWO ROCKY MOUNTAIN PASSES. 121 

i miles before crossing to the Arkansas Valley. Mr. Beard, 
exulting at his escape from the saddle, took the mule wagon 
with Mr. Sumner ; the rest of us determined to try the 
shorter and more difficult pass. Mr. Willet, of Buckskin 
Joe, offered his services as guide, promising to pilot us 
safely over, although no horses had yet crossed this season. 
So, wearing the scarlet " Matthews tie," as a memento of 
that gentleman's kindness, we bade good-by to Buckskin 
Joe, without visiting the abundant "pay-streaks" in its 
neighborhood. 

One evidence of the richness of the locality met us, how- 
ever, at the outset. We rode along the borders of a nar 
row gulch — now all stones and gravel — out of which five 
hundred thousand dollars were washed in 1860. Thence, 
two miles over a rough, timbered mountain brought us to 
Mosquito, another mining village of a hundred inhabitants, 
at the mouth of a narrow, winding gorge, issuing out of 
snow-streaked heights to the southward. Into this gorge 
led the trail, difficult in places, but not to be compared to 
the swamps and rocky ladders of the Middle Park. Mr. 
Willet walked briskly in advance, entertaining us with sto- 
ries of his winter journeys on foot over the pass, carrying 
the weekly mail. He did not appear to be troubled by the 
rarity of the atmosphere, of which I was very conscious, 
even in the saddle. 

The ascent was quite gradual, yet we soon passed the 
timber line, and the fields of snow crept down the steeps 
of grass and rock, ever nearer, feeding the torrent which 
rushed through the gorge. On the left towered an appar- 
ently inacc ssible mass of dark-red rock, to the height of 
two thousand feet ; a field of snow in front, shining against 
the sky, was equally impassable, and the steep on our left 
must be scaled. AW- dismounted, and commenced the heart- 
breaking task. Climbing a dozen steps at a time, and then 
halting to recover breath, we slowly toiled upward, around 
a great slant of melting snow, which had lodged under the 



122 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

cornice of the mountain. I could take no note of the won- • 
derful scenery which opened and widened under us, for 
every pulse throbbed as if ready to burst, my eyes were 
dim and my head giddy in the endeavor to fill my collapsed 
lungs. The pony climbed faithfully at my side, and more 
than once I should have fallen but for his supporting neck. 

We circumscaled the snow at last, and came over the 
sharp crest upon an upland a mile or two long, bounded 
by the highest summits. It was a bleak, Arctic landscape ; 
where the snow had melted there were patches of brick- 
colored rock and brown grass, or pools of dull, chilly water. 
The great cliffs across the gorge cut off the distant moun- 
tains and valleys from view ; we were alone in an upper 
world as bleak as that on the Norwegian fjelds. The sum- 
mit-ridge we were to cross lay to the southward, but we 
could detect no way to reach it without crossing broad and 
apparently dangerous drifts. Mr. Willet, however, who 
had frequently made the journey in storm and mist, 
marched on with a confident air, leading us across the 
table-land, up a stony angle of the mountain, with snow- 
filled ravines on either side, until we reached a point where 
it was necessary to dismount for the last climb. 

This was the toughest work of all. The trail became a 
rocky staircase, crossed by drifts thirty or forty feet in 
depth, where, after walking firmly on the surface for a few 
yards, man and horse would sink down unexpectedly and 
flounder in the melting snow. In those lofty regions there 
is no such thing as getting a " second wind " — every step 
is like a blow which knocks the breath out of one's body. 
I was conscious of a dry, disagreeable, tingling sensation 
in the lungs, which the most rapid, open-mouthed inhala- 
tion of air could not allay. At every tenth step we were 
forced to pause, overcome by what I may call respiratory 
fatigue. The air, nevertheless, was deliciously pure and 
bracing, and none of us experienced any nausea, bleeding 
at the nose, or dimness of vision, such as great altitudes 



TWO KOCKY MOUNTAIN PASSES. 123 

frequently produce. When we stood still, the physical dis- 
comfort soon passed away. The ledges of naked red rocks 
increased as we climbed; the dark-blue sky sank lower 
behind the crest ; and at one o'clock in the afternoon we 
stood upon the summit of the pass. 

Our elevation above the sea-level could not have been 
much less than thirteen thousand feet. The timber line 
was far below us ; near at hand we were surrounded by a 
desolation of snow and naked rock. Mount Lincoln, on 
the north, gathered together the white folds of the separat- 
ing mountain ranges, and set his supreme pyramid over 
them ; while far to the southeast, where the sage-plains of 
the South Park stretch for a hundred miles, all features 
were lost in a hot purple mist. Before us, however, lay the 
crowning grandeur. The ridge upon which we stood slid 
down, like the roof of a house, to the valley of the Upper 
Arkansas, which we could trace to the very fountain-head 
of the river, its pine groves and long meandering lines of 
cotton-wood drawn upon a field of pearly gray-green. Start- 
ing from Mount Lincoln, the eye followed the central chain 
— the backbone of the continent — in a wide semicircle 
around the head of the valley until it faced us on the oppo- 
site side, and then kept on its course southward, on and 
ever on, slowly fading into air — a hundred miles of eter- 
nal snow ! Beyond the Arkansas Valley (where there is a 
pass considerably below the timber line) glimmered, as if 
out of blue air, the rosy snow of other and farther ranges. 
Westward, seventy miles distant, stood the lonely Sopris 
Peak, higher than Mont Blanc. 

New landscapes are often best described by comparison 
with others that are known ; but I know not where to turn 
for any mountain view at all resembling this in wondrous 
breadth and extent — in the singular combination of sub- 
dued coloring with great variety of form. It is at once 
simple, sublime, and boundless. With a very clear atmos- 
phere, the effect might be different ; as we saw it, the far- 



124 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

thest peaks and ranges melted insensibly out of the line of 
vision, suggesting almost incredible distances. There were 
no glaciers, thrusting down their wedges between the for- 
ests ; no great upper plateaus of impacted snow, pouring 
their cataracts from rocky walls, as in the Alps. The snow- 
line, though broken by ravines, was quite uniform ; but the 
snows were flushed with such exquisite color, and cut the 
sky with such endless variety of outline, that they substi- 
tuted a beauty of another and rarer kind. This, and the 
view of the Blue River Valley, in the Middle Park, are 
representative landscapes ; and they alone are worth a jour- 
ney across the Plains. 

We celebrated the day with none but the most loyal 
and patriotic sentiments. Our toasts were few, for there 
was little of the material out of which they grow; our 
speeches short, for breath was a scarce commodity ; but we 
duly remembered the American Eagle, and magnified the 
shadow of his wings. There has been no loftier celebra- 
tion this day in the United States, I am sure. 

It was impossible to mount our horses until a certain 
point, nearly two thousand feet below us, had been reached. 
There was no snow on the southern slope ; but a zigzag, 
headlong path over bare stones (among which Mr. Byers 
saw constant indications of gold) for two miles or more, 
and we reached the bottom with trembling knees and drip- 
ping faces. After this the path gradually fell into one of 
the lateral glens which debouch into the Arkansas Valley, 
and we pushed merrily on through pine groves and over 
green meadows, stung by the gadfly of hunger. Mr. 
Willet insisted on taking us out of the direct path to see 
the evidences of gold-washing in California Gulch. We 
objected, preferring to see a dinner; but he was our guide, 
and he had his way. The obdurate man made us ride 
along a mile of hideous gravel-pits and piles of dirt, smack- 
ing his lips over the hundreds of thousands of dollars 
which had been dug out of them, while every one of us 



TWO ROCKY MOUNTAIN PASSES. 125 

was suffering indescribable pangs. What was it to us that 
men are even now washing out one hundred dollars a 
day? 

Log-cabins made their appearance at last, then miners, 
then more log-cabins, then a street with several saloons, 
eating-houses, and corrals, — and that was Oro City. The 
place did not promise much, I must confess ; but one must 
never judge from the outside in Colorado. What we found 
I will relate in my next. 



XVI. 

THE ARKANSAS VALLEY AND THE TWIN LAKES. 

Salt Works, South Park, July 6, 1866. 

I said we were hungry on arriving at Oro City, but the 
word gives no description of our sensations. After climb- 
ing over a crest only a few hundred feet lower than the 
Swiss Jungfrau, we descended to the level of human life 
with a profound interest in the signs of " Boarding " and 
" Miners' Homes," which greeted us on entering the place. 
Even the " Saloon," with its cubicular bottles of Plantation 
Bitters, suggested smoked herring and crackers ; and these 
in our condition would have been welcome luxuries. Be- 
fore we had dismounted, a gentleman of most cheery and 
hospitable face threw open his door, disclosing arm-chairs 
and rocking-chairs, a long table, and a dim vision of beds 
in the background. We entered, and there were presently 
sounds of dulcet hissing and sizzling in the rear ; grateful, 
but ah ! most tantalizing odors in the atmosphere ; and then 
the trout were set before us — us, who would have rejoiced 
over raw pork ! It was a meal worth pining for, and I do 
less than my duty in recording the name of our host, Mr. 
Wolf Londoner, who not only fed but lodged the whole 
party, with the most generous disregard of his own and his 
wife's comfort. I consider that hospitality perfect which 
does not allow you to feel the sacrifices it imposes ; and 
such was the kind we received in Oro City. 

We passed the afternoon in a state of luxurious and 
commendable idleness. There was no work going on in 
the gulch, — every one was enjoying the national holiday ; 



ARKANSAS VALLEY AND THE TWIN LAKES. 127 

Major De Mary came across the valley with a kind invita- 
tion to his ranche and mineral springs, and joined our club 
of idlers. We not only learned that gulch mining is still 
profitable in this region, — one company producing one 
hundred dollars per day per man, — but were presented by 
our unparalleled host with evidences of the fact, in the 
shape of nuggets. A lump, found the day before our 
arrival, weighed three ounces. Promising lodes have been 
struck, but none are worked as yet. 

In the evening one of our party lectured in the Record- 
er's office, which was draped with flags, and temporarily 
fitted up as an auditorium. A number of ladies were 
present, and the new type of face which I have described 
in a previous letter reappeared again. The question re- 
turned to me, — whence is it produced ? From the climate 
of our central regions, the circumstances of life, or the 
mingling of blood ? Possibly a mixture of all three. 
Whatever it may be, here is the beginning of a splendid 
race of men. I remembered having been very much puz- 
zled a year ago by the face of a waiter on one of the Mis- 
sissippi steamers. I fancied I saw both the Irish and the 
German characteristics, which is such an unusual cross, 
that I ascertained the man's parentage, and found it to be 
Scotch and German. The Celtic and Saxon elements seem 
to supply each other's deficiencies, and to improve the 
American breed of men more than any other mixture. 
The handsome Colorado type may be partly derived from 
this source. 

After the lecture there was a ball, which all the ladies 
of the Upper Arkansas Valley — hardly a baker's dozen — 
attended. The sound of music and dancing, and the assur- 
ance that we would be acceptable in our flannel shirts and 
scarlet " Matthews ties," could not, however, overcome the 
seductions of Mr. Londoner's beds. To cross the Rocky 
Mountains two days in succession, speak to the multitude 
in the evening, and dance afterward, is beyond my powers. 



128 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

" Fatigue," as Mr. Beard truly remarks, when laying aside 
a half-finished sketch, " demoralizes." Our host and hostess 
very properly resolved not to be cheated out of their holi- 
day ; and after all the labor our advent had caused, they 
enjoyed the ball until three in the morning, and then arose 
at five to make ready for our breakfast. 

Our proposed route was down the Arkansas to Canon 
City, a distance of a hundred miles, which we hoped to 
accomplish in three days. The head-waters of the river 
are at the western foot of Mount Lincoln, the dividing 
ridge making a horseshoe curve around them. The pass 
at the head of the Arkansas Valley is probably the lowest 
between the South Pass and Santa Fe, but on each side of 
it the ranges rise rapidly above the line of perpetual snow. 
That on the east, which we had just crossed, is merely a 
long spur of the Rocky Mountains, dividing the South 
Park from the Arkansas Valley. It gradually diminishes 
in height, and finally terminates altogether at Canon City, 
where the river issues upon the plains. The range on the 
west, called the Sah watch, is at first the dividing ridge of 
the continent, lifting its serrated crest of snow to the height 
of fourteen thousand feet. In the course of fifty or sixty 
miles, however, it divides ; the eastern branch uniting with 
the Sangre de Christo and Raton Mountains, while the 
western becomes merged in the Sierra Madre of New 
Mexico, dividing the waters of the Gila from those of the 
Rio del Norte. The Sahwatch Range is one of the most 
beautiful of the various divisions of the Rocky Mountains. 
Its forms are even finer than those seen from Denver. 
The succession of tints is enchanting, as the eye travels 
upward from the wonderful sage-gray of the Arkansas bot- 
tom, over the misty sea-gray of the slopes of buffalo-grass, 
the dark purplish green of fir forests, the red of rocky 
walls, scored with thousand-fold lines of shadow, and rests 
at last on snows that dazzle with their cool whiteness on 
the opposite peaks, but stretch into rosy dimness far to the 
south. 



. ARKANSAS VALLEY AND THE TWIN LAKES. 129 

Counting the gradual lower slopes of the mountains on 
either side, the Arkansas Valley is here five or six miles 
in breadth ; and you may therefore imagine the splendid 
morning landscape in pearly shadow, the Sahwatch illumi- 
nated from capes of timber, and sage-plains spangled not 
less with flowers than with dew, as we rode southward 
toward the Twin Lakes. Major De Mary and Mr. Lon- 
doner accompanied us. Our business was first to find 
Messrs. Beard and Sumner, who had started with the mule- 
team from Buckskin Joe, and were expected to camp at a 
deserted ranch e eight or ten miles down the valley ; then 
to accept the invitation of Mr. Leonhardy of the Twin 
Lakes, and dine with him before proceeding further. On 
reaching the crossing of the Arkansas, a good field-glass 
showed us the artist a mile away in pursuit of a mule ; 
whereupon two gentlemen set off on a gallop to his assist- 
ance. The rest of us forded the river, and pushed forward 
with wet legs down the western bank. 

There are very few lakes in Colorado, hence these belong 
to the shows of the Territory. They lie at the foot of the 
Sahwatch Range, about fifteen miles south of Oro City. 
The day was hot and sultry, and we experienced not a little 
relief when the road, leaving the treeless bed of the valley, 
mounted to a hilly region covered with clumps of pine. 
It was miserable to see how many trees had been barked 
on one side or completely girdled ; and I was on the point 
of anathematizing the settlers, when one of the party 
charged the outrage upon the elks. The destruction of 
this noble game is now a matter of less regret. I don't 
think, however, that the wanton burning of the Rocky 
Mountain forests can be attributed to these animals. 

Nothing could have been more refreshing than the sud- 
den flash of a sheet of green crystal through an opening in 
the grove. A cool, delightful wind blew across the water, 
and far down in its depths we saw the reflected images of 
snow-peaks which were still hidden from us by the trees. 
9 



130 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

The lower lake is nearly four miles in length by one and a 
half in breadth, and its softly undulating, quiet shores, 
form a singular contrast to the rugged mountains beyond. 
A straight, narrow terrace, twenty feet in height — a natu- 
ral dam — separates it from the upper lake, which is a mile 
and a half in length, lying, as it were, between the knees 
of the mountains. A triangular tract of meadow land 
slopes upward from the farther end of this lake, and is 
gradually squeezed into a deep, wild canon, out of which 
the lake-stream issues. On this meadow there is the com- 
mencement of a town which is called Dayton. The people, 
with singular perversity, have selected the only spot where 
a view of the beautiful lake is shut out from them. 

Mr. Leonhardy had tempted us with descriptions of six 
and eight-pound trout ; so, when we reached his cottage 
and were informed by Mrs. L. that he was upon the lake, 
Mr. Byers, whose love of trout would lead him to fish even 
in Bitter Creek, at once set off across the meadows. We 
followed, leaving him to embark in the shaky little craft, 
while we sought good pasturage for our jaded beasts. The 
meadow turf was beautifully smooth and green, but before 
we had ridden twenty yards my pony sunk suddenly to his 
belly, and I found myself standing a-straddle over him. 
Looking ahead, I saw Mr. McC. similarly posed over his 
mule, while the others were making rapid detours to avoid 
our company. My pony extricated himself by a violent 
effort, and, taught by instinct, gained safe ground as rap- 
idly as possible ; but the mule, being a hybrid, and there- 
fore deficient in moral character, settled on his side, 
stretched out his neck, and yielded himself to despair. 
Xeither encouragement nor blows produced the least 
effect ; he was an abject fatalist, and nothing but a lariat 
around his body, with a horse as motive power at the other 
end, prevailed upon him to stir. The lariat proved effi- 
cient. When his hind feet had thus been painfully dragged 
out of the mire, he pulled out his fore feet and walked 
away with an air of reproach. 



ARKANSAS VALLEY AND THE TWIN LAKES. 131 

The large specimens of trout did not bite, — they never 
do when there is a special reason for desiring it, — but we 
had no right to complain. Mr. Leonhardy's dinner was a 
thing to be remembered — a banquet, not for the gods, but 
(much better than that) for men. There came upon my 
plate a slice of dark fragrant meat, the taste whereof was 
a new sensation. It was not elk — at least of this earth — 
nor venison, nor antelope, nor bear, nor beaver ; none of 
these ever possessed such a rich, succulent, delicate, and 
yet virile, blood-invigorating flavor. It was mountain sheep 
— the wild, big-horned American ibex — and to my indi- 
vidual taste it is the finest meat in the world. The trout 
followed ; and the bread, butter, and milk, could not be sur- 
passed in Switzerland. Lastly came a pudding, stuffed 
with mountain berries, to crown what already seemed com- 
plete. The perfection of the dinner was not in the mate- 
rials, excellent as they were, but in the refined, cultivated 
mind which directed their preparation. 

The degree of refinement which I have found in the 
remote mining districts of Colorado has been a great sur- 
prise. California, after ten years' settlement, retained a 
proportion of the rough, original mining element ; but Mon- 
tana has acted as a social strainer to Colorado ; or, rather, as 
a miner's pan, shaking out a vast deal of dirt and leaving 
the gold behind. Mr. Leonhardy and his neighbors live 
in rude cabins, but they do not therefore relinquish the 
graces of life. It is only the ha //-cultivated who, under 
such circumstances, relapse toward barbarism. Mountain 
life soon rubs off the veneering, and we know of what 
wood men are made. 

Some miles up the canon behind the lakes is Red Moun- 
tain, which is said to be streaked through and through with 
the richest gold and silver lodes. The specimens I saw 
give the greatest promise, and I regretted that we could 
not have visited the spot whence they were taken. This 
region, like the others, is waiting for the best and cheapest 



132 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

method of reducing the ores. It is a vast treasure-house, 
lacking only the true key to open it. 

We took leave of our generous hosts immediately after 
dinner, and pushed on down the Arkansas Valley, still 
accompanied by Mr. Londoner. The road led along the 
banks of both lakes, close to their deep, dark waters, yet 
unsounded ; and over their cool floor the dry, lilac-tinted 
mountains in the distance shone as if swept with fire. We 
had received particular directions in regard to fording the 
creek by which the lakes overflow into the Arkansas. It 
was so swollen that the usual ford was impracticable ; and, 
on reaching its banks, Mr. Byers judged it prudent to 
make a platform of drift-wood upon the wagon-bed, in 
order to lift our baggage and provisions above the water. 
When all was ready for the trial, he remounted his horse 
and led the way. 

Plunging into an eddy where the water, though above 
the horse's belly, was tolerably still, he skirted a little 
island of willow bushes, beyond which the main current 
raced by with a very perceptible slant, indicating both 
depth and force. We followed in single file, slowly and 
cautiously, and did not attempt the current until we saw 
that he had fairly reached the opposite bank. When my 
turn came, I fully expected to be carried away. The water 
rushed over the saddle, the horse lost his footing, and 
nothing but a plucky heart in the beast carried him through. 
Then came the mule-team, Mr. Sumner driving and Mr. 
Beard perched upon the platform, with the precious box 
of colors in his lap. I watched them creeping along under 
the lee of the island, slowly venturing out into the swift, 
strong flood — then the mules began to give way, and pres- 
ently the whole team started down stream, with one mule 
under water. 

Mr. Sumner succeeded in getting a little out of the cur- 
rent, and two horsemen went to his assistance. The wagon 
and mules were half urged, half dragged into stiller water, 



ARKANSAS VALLEY AND THE TWIN LAKES. 133 

and there they stuck. The nose and ears of the drowning 
mule were held up by main force ; he was unharnessed, 
and free to rise. But he, too, had already given up hope ; 
he lay passive, and every effort to inspire him to make an 
effort was fruitless. More than half an hour passed anx- 
iously, four of the gentlemen working hard in the ice-cold 
water, when an application of the lariat, drawn by horses, 
brought the wretched beast to his legs. The baggage was 
then carried across, piece by piece, on horseback ; the 
mule hauled over and contemptuously turned to graze ; 
another mule harnessed in his place ; the lariats made fast 
to each other and attached to the wagon-tongue ; and 
finally, the wet and chilly horsemen crossed, to be ready 
to take their places in hauling. Again the wagon started ; 
the artist clasped his color-box (and my carpet-bag I grate- 
fully add) with renewed energy ; the mules entered the 
current, wavered again, and were swept away. Six of us, 
pulling at the lariats with all our strength, held the team 
and wagon floating for a moment, then the current swung 
them to the bank, foothold' was gained, and we hauled 
them out with a shout of triumph. The adventure lasted 
forty minutes, by the watch. Those who had been loudest 
in their praises of savage nature up to this point, now 
began to admit the beauty of bridges. 

The summits of the Sahwatch were veiled in clouds, and 
the sky became overcast, as we resumed our journey; our 
animals were all fatigued and chilled, and our progress for 
the next six or eight miles was slow. My pony had never 
been shod, and the hard mountain travel began to tell on 
his feet ; so when we reached Cache Creek, where there 
are three taverns, a store, a saloon, and some gulch mining, 
my first inquiry was for the blacksmith. At Buckskin Joe 
I had failed ; at Oro the shop had been burned ; and now 
at Cache Creek the blacksmith, when found, proposed that 
I should wait a day. This was impossible, although three 
taverns, a landlord with a bunged eye, and an enterprising 



134 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

landlady, offered accommodation enough. We had already 
waited an hour before the blacksmith could be found ; and 
now, a little dispirited, we set out in a drizzling rain. 

A little below Cache Creek the Valley of the Arkansas 
contracts. The road winds through rocky hills, covered 
with scattered timber, — sometimes following the river down 
narrow winding glens, sometimes forced over steep heights 
to avoid an impassable canon. We travelled some four or 
five miles through this scenery, and encamped in a mead- 
ow, at the foot of a huge gray precipice. A bonfire of 
dead pine trunks dried our half-drowned adventurers, and 
two stately trees made shelter for our beds. 



XVII. 



IN THE SOUTH PARK. 



Camp, South Platte River, July 8, 1866. 

When we encamped on the Arkansas, we were still 
seventy miles from Canon City, by the practicable trail. 
Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been an 
easy journey, but our animals were fagged by the severe 
mountain travel, the sky was threatening, our provisions 
were short, and there was no settlement on the way, except 
a few miles below us, in the Arkansas Valley. Neverthe- 
less, we determined to push on as far as possible, and, if 
need be, divide the party at the end of the day. 

It was a little hard to come back to the normal diet of 
salt pork and biscuit, but Mr. Londoner, our faithful ally, 
set us the example. We slept soundly on elastic mattresses 
of fir, breakfasted early, and continued our slow way 
down the valley. There was a deep creek to be forded, 
and we took the precaution of attaching lariats to the 
wagon-tongue, whereby a catastrophe like that of the pre- 
vious day was prevented. After this, the rough, broken 
country ceased, the valley opened out more broadly, and 
we saw — or would have seen, but for gathering clouds — 
the Sah watch Range. An irrigating ditch from the river 
pleasantly surprised us. * Following it, we came to a large 
inclosed field of wheat — the 'first since leaving the neigh- 
borhood of Denver. The place is called Frenchman's 
Ranche from its owner, whom we saw at a distance, en- 
gaged in looking after his growing crops. It is a cheerful 
oasis in the wilderness. 



136 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

Two miles further we crossed the Arkansas on a rude 
but substantial log bridge. The river is here a flashing; 
foaming torrent, about the size of the Saco at Conway. 
The road, clinging for a mile or two to the grassy meadows 
and scattered groves of the valley, gradually climbs along 
the hills on its eastern side, and then suddenly enters a 
narrow, winding glen. A little further to the south the 
great Canon of the Arkansas, through which no road has 
yet been made, commences ; and all the travel from the 
farming country below Canon City to the mining regions 
about the head of the river must cross the lower part of 
the South Park. Fortunately, the mountain boundaries 
of the Park are here broad and low, and the passage of 
them is not difficult. Not far from the commencement of 
the Arkansas Canon there is a pass across the Sahwatch 
(the " Poncho Pass ") into the great San Luis Park, which 
is drained by the Rio del Norte, and extends two hundred 
and fifty miles southward into New-Mexico. Governor Gil- 
pin says that the San Luis Park is the centre of the Conti- 
nent — " the best gem upon its zone " — with a " velvety " 
atmosphere, and scenery of a cosmical character. 

With the first winding of the glen we entered, the Ar- 
kansas Valley disappeared, and the scenery instantly 
changed. The hills were heaps of dark red boulders, ar- 
ranged in fantastic piles — Cyclopean pyramids, sometimes 
topped by single blocks, twenty or thirty feet in diameter, 
sometimes disposed so as to form apparent bastions in front 
of long, tumbling ramparts. Every undulation of the 
ranges, far and near, was crowned with these natural ruins. 
Out of the thin, sandy soil, grew clumps of pinones (a pine 
with edible cones), which denoted' a warmer climate than 
we had yet found in the mountains. The cactus, also, reap- 
peared, and these two features gave a savage picturesque- 
ness to the landscapes. 

After a few scorching sun-bursts, the sky became over- 
spread with a gray film, gathering into blackness along the 



IX THE SOUTH PARK. 137 

Alpine ranges behind us. For mile after mile we wound 
through the labyrinths of rocks and bushy pines, a slow, 
straggling, and rather melancholy procession. My poor, 
shoeless pony could not be persuaded to trot. Mr. D.'s 
mule refused to carry him, and he was added to the wagon- 
load, greatly discouraging its team. Mr. Byers's horse, 
a'lone, seemed equal to the emergency. Two of the party 
pushed ahead, in the hope of finding game, and the re- 
mainder of us lagged so much that we were obliged to 
camp at noon without overtaking them. The rest and pas- 
ture slightly encouraged our animals, but it was very evi- 
dent that we could no longer depend upon them. 

We had travelled eight miles after entering the hills, be- 
fore there were any signs of a " divide." What seemed to 
be the highest ridge then rose before us. Its crest was 
bare, and as we emerged from the trees and looked back- 
ward, a most remarkable landscape was revealed. Over a 
foreground of hill-tops, from which shot up hundreds of 
rocky towers and pyramids, we looked down into the Ar- 
kansas Valley, which here formed a basin several miles in 
breadth. Seen through the filmy atmosphere, the silvery 
sage-plains seemed to be transparent. The meandering 
lines of timber which marked the courses of the Arkansas 
and its tributaries, were of the purest ultramarine hue. In 
the background, the intensely dark clouds, resting. on the 
summits of the Sahwatch, were lifted in an arch, which 
was filled with a marvellous glow of pale-gray light, en- 
shrining a great snow-peak in the centre. This was the 
luminous part of the picture — all else was seen through 
transparent shadow, the gradations of which were so ex- 
quisite, the tones so rare and delicate, that Color itself 
could scarcely represent them. 

We picked up our foiled hunters, whom we found sitting 
beside a fire, in an attitude of dejection, which may have 
been the effect of hunger. On the summit of the divide 
the rain began to fall, though not rapidly enough to ob- 



138 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

scure the beauty of the long and lovely valley on the other 
side. As we descended this valley, it soon became evident 
that we were not yet in the South Park ; it turned west- 
ward and slanted toward the Arkansas. Mr. Byers and I 
held a consultation as we rode, he proposing that we twain 
should push on for Canon City, leaving the others (who 
had no lectures to deliver) to make for Denver. To do 
this, however, we must take no baggage, and very little 
provender, ride twenty miles further before camping, and 
run the risk of my pony giving out on the way. We were 
on the point of deciding for this plan, when the sky closed 
over us more darkly than ever, the rain fell in steady, 
dreary streams, and the road (which, meanwhile, had 
almost imperceptibly crossed another ridge and entered 
the South Park) divided into two trails. One of these, 
Mr. Londoner informed us, led to the Salt Works, about 
five miles distant, where we could find food and shelter ; 
the other to Canon City, with a single deserted ranche on 
the way. 

It was four o'clock in the afternoon : we were hungry, 
wet, and sore : our horses seemed scarcely able to drag 
their feet through the mud : the water was slowly soaking 
through our shoulders and trickling into our boots ; and 
the heroic resolutions of half an hour previous rapidly 
melted away as we paused at the parting of the ways. 
Like many another, the narrow and difficult trail lost its 
self-denying attractions ; the short and broad trail became 
suddenly very fascinating. The wind blew and the rain 
dashed more harshly in our faces ; we yielded, turned our 
horses' heads, and rode silently toward the Salt Works. 

A lone mountain, glimmering dimly across the melan- 
choly plain, was our beacon. Another hour brought to 
view a column of smoke, rising from its base — the wel- 
come sign of habitation and shelter ! Then we saw graz- 
ing herds — white patches of saline incrustations — shan- 
ties and cabins, and just before nightfall the goal was 



IN THE SOUTH PARK. 139 

reached. The house of Mr. Hall, the superintendent of 
the works, received our dripping party, so rejoiced to find 
warmth, food, and protection from the storm, that I am 
afraid we were not fully aware of the inconvenience we 
occasioned to our kindly hostess. Ourselves, blankets, sad- 
dles, and other traps, almost filled the little cottage ; we 
made a solid circle around the stove ; yet, somehow, the 
bountiful supper was swiftly and quietly prepared, and two 
strangers who came after us were received with equal hos- 
pitality. The life of a settler in Colorado necessarily en- 
tails these duties, and if they are always so cheerfully and 
kindly performed as in our case, the Territory may be 
proud of its citizens. 

Mr. Hall gave me some information concerning the Salt 
Works, from which it appears that the yield of the springs, 
which are very strongly impregnated, is capable of supply- 
ing the wants of Colorado, for many years to come. In 
spite of the high price of labor, fuel, and supplies, the pro- 
duction of salt is now vigorously and successfully carried 
on ; the capacity of the works will soon be doubled. I 
ought, properly, in my character of traveller, to have vis- 
ited them : the curious reader, perhaps, may not be willing 
to excuse my neglect ; but, at the time, I found it so much 
more agreeable to nurse my soaked existence beside the 
stove than to trudge a quarter of a mile in mud and rain, 
that I suppressed the voice of conscience. "We all know, 
however, that a salt spring is like any other spring, except 
as to taste ; that the water is evaporated by boiling, and 
that the importance of the works depends on the quantity 
and quality of the water. I believe Mr. Hall stated twenty 
thousand gallons per day as the present yield : the per- 
centage of salt is equal to that of the best springs in 
the world. 

That night, we filled the sofas, benches, and the floors of 
the kitchen and sitting-room. Fir in the trunk. I discov- 
ered, makes a much more uneasy bed than fir in the bough. 



140 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

Toward morning the sleepers were restless, and if we arose 
before the sun we deserved no special credit for it. The 
South Park was still moist, sodden, and shrouded in mist. 
Canon City being now out of the question, Colorado City 
and Pike's Peak were next discussed. Seventy-five miles, 
partly of very rocky travel, and no blacksmith's shop on 
the way, were altogether too much for my pony, and we 
finally decided to make for the little mining village of 
Fairplay, twenty miles distant, to the north. Thence to 
Denver is a three days' journey, along the South Platte. 
Our animals had enjoyed the richest pasturage during the 
night, and a lick of salt, so that they were in rather better 
condition when we started. 

This part of the South Park is a nearly level plain, cov- 
ered with the finest grass. Detached hills, or short moun- 
tain-ridges, some of them streaked with snow, occasionally 
interrupt the level ; but, looking northward, the view 
always reaches to Mount Lincoln and the lofty summits of 
the central chain. On the eastern and southern sides the 
mountains are lower, although they rise toward Pike's 
Peak, which derives its apparent height and imposing ap- 
pearance from its isolation. It is separated by a distance 
of fifty or sixty miles from the snowy spurs of the Rocky 
Mountains. The altitude of the South Park is considera- 
bly higher than that of the Arkansas Valley : it is, in fact, 
equal to that of the Middle Park — between eight and 
nine thousand feet above the sea. Hence, it is doubtful 
whether grain can be successfully grown. 

Although the mist gathered into clouds, these latter 
hung low for several hours, hiding the mountains, which 
constitute the finest feature of the Park scenery. We 
passed Buffalo Springs, forded several small affluents of 
the Platte, vainly tried to plunder an eagle's nest on the 
top of a pine-tree, and then entered on a slightly undulat- 
ing plain, eight or ten miles in breadth. Now, at least, the 
sky cleared, revealing snowy chains in front and on both 



IN THE SOUTH PARK. 141 

sides of us ; stretches of evergreen forests on the lower 
elevations ; isolated ranges to the eastward — landscapes, 
shifting in the relation of their forms, but never to be 
measured with a radius of less than thirty miles. We 
should have enjoyed the scenery more keenly, but for our 
anxiety to reach Fairplay. Mr. Byers pointed out the lo- 
cation of the place near the foot of the northern moun- 
tains, yet many a weary mile still intervened. The plain 
terminated in a belt of scattering timber, then dropped 
down a slope into broad meadows, crossing which we found 
ourselves on the edge of a bluff, with the main stream of 
the South Platte foaming fifty feet below us. 

The bridge had been washed away, and fording, after our 
previous experiences, was anything but an agreeable neces- 
sity. The water was so very swift that I fully expected to 
see Mr. Byers carried away ; but it proved not to be deep, 
and the bottom was firm. Leaving the others to haul the 
wagon across, I pushed on up the other bank to Fairplay, 
left my pony with the blacksmith, and engaged dinner for 
the party in a spacious log hotel, kept by the genial and 
loyal Judge Castillo. Fairplay is a quiet little place, with 
perhaps two hundred inhabitants, at the foot of a wooded 
slope, looking to the south, with a charming view far down 
the Park. There is gulch-mining along the Platte and its 
small tributaries, and lodes, I am told, in the adjacent 
mountains. Although the rains returned in the afternoon 
and the sky was threatening, we determined to make ten 
miles more before night. 

The road was rolling, and still heavy from the rains, 
crossing the low spurs and insteps of hills thrust out from 
the snowy range. We made slow and weary progress, but 
the latter part of the way was illuminated with a wonder- 
ful sunset. Under the glowing orange of a cloud-bank in 
the east, the mountains around Pike's Peak lav in ashen 
shadow, and all the broad, intervening plain, rosy-gray, 
shimmered with faint, evanescent tints of green and tur- 
quoise-blue and gold, where the light struck across it. 



142 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

This was no fleeting effect : it lingered for at least half an 
hour, slowly darkening until the contrasts of light and 
shade became as weird and unearthly as in some of the 
sketches of Dore. Before the stars appeared, we reached 
our destination, " Dan's Ranche," a two-story frame tavern, 
kept by a German. There was a dark, dirty bar-room, in 
which half a dozen miners were waiting for supper ; good, 
clean beds and bed-rooms, and a landlady who conversed 
enthusiastically with me about Schiller. 

Four or five miles north of this ranche lies Hamilton, 
at the foot of the Tarryall Pass, by which wagons cross the 
snowy range to Breckenridge. The soil, in all this portion 
of the Park, shows " color," and the beautiful swells and 
undulations which delighted our eyes are destined, no 
doubt, to be dug up, washed down, and torn to pieces. 
Already hydraulic mining has commenced, and the yield 
of the earth is half an ounce a day per man. This is the 
only part of Colorado where I have seen this form of min- 
ing applied. There was a slight attempt at gardening at 
the ranche, apparently made without much hope of success, 
yet I thought it promised very well. 

This morning we awoke to a cloudless sky — every shred 
of vapor had disappeared, and the dewy plains glittered in 
the sunshine. We saddled immediately after breakfast, 
and set out to cross the northeastern corner of the Park 
to the opposite mountains, which were ten or twelve miles 
distant. Had our beasts been fresher, it would have been 
an inspiring ride. The ground was traversed by Fremont 
in one of his explorations (I think in 1842 or '43), but 
how little he has told us of the scenery ! The idea one gets 
from his descriptions and those of other explorers, is that 
of dark, stern, northern mountains, — the Adirondacks or 
White Mountains on a larger scale, — whereas, in color and 
atmospheric effects they have all the characteristics of a 
southern latitude. The chain of the Taurus in Asia Minor 
most resembles them. They have nothing in common with 
our conventional American scenery. Bierstadt's large pic- 



IN THE SOUTH PARK. 143 

ture gives a fair representation of some of their forms 
(though the height of his central peak is exaggerated), but 
he has not chosen their peculiar atmosphere. 

When we had noticed Hamilton at a distance, and the 
two log-cabins which mark the site of the deserted town 
of Jefferson ; when we had caught sight of Pike's Peak 
through a long vista between the hills, passed ruined 
ranches where men were murdered, and meadows of peat 
which burned under all the winter's snows, — the boundary 
of the South Park was reached, and we climbed the bare 
steep, from the summit of which we should look upon it for 
the last time. 

At this point it has the appearance of a little enclosed 
world, like the Valley of Mexico. The lesser undulations 
of the soil vanish, but the loftier ridges scattered over its 
surface and more or less wooded, make dark waves on its 
broad ground of faint golden-gray. At a distance of twenty 
or thirty miles the colors appear transparent ; still further, 
the purple peaks, capped with snow, are painted on the air. 
The most distant tints are pale lilac rather than blue. On 
the right, the great snowy range carries its grand, solid, 
positive features beyond the line where the Park becomes 
more of a vision than a reality, and its sharp rock-shadows 
and snow-fields keen against the sky form a wonderful con- 
trast to the airy, sunlit gleam of the plains below. On 
the one hand there is softness, delicate color, and vanish- 
ing distance ; on the other, height, strength and dazzling 
clearness. 

Yet, as I write, I feel only what my words fail to convey. 
All the rarer and subtler qualities of the picture fide in 
the effort to express them. If the characteristic features 
of Rocky Mountain scenery can be inferred from the frag- 
ments of description scattered through these letters, I shall 
be satisfied. It is impossible to compress them into a sin- 
gle paragraph. Each day's travel, and almost every land- 
scape of each day. has its own distinct individuality. 



xvin. 



THE RETURN TO DENVER. 



Denver, Colorado, July 12, l?0ti. 

With the parting view of the South Park we left the 
chief glories of the Rocky Mountains behind us. The 
main branch of the South Platte finds an outlet to the 
plains through a canon which is yet impassable, and the 
road to Denver strikes diagonally across the eastern spurs 
of the snowy range, where the scenery is generally of a 
rough, cramped, and confined character. For some miles 
we had very fine views of the lofty peaks at the south- 
eastern corner of the Middle Park, but after passing the 
" Kenosha House," a lonely tavern-ranche, the road lay 
mostly through close, winding dells, leading us to one of 
the branches of the Platte. Our anglers succeeded in 
getting a dozen trout, which made a welcome addition to 
our diminishing stores. We might have found a tolerable 
" square meal " at the tavern, but our camp-life was draw- 
ing near its close just as we were becoming properly habit- 
uated to it, and there was no dissenting voice to the propo- 
sition that we should avoid both kitchens and roofs for the 
rest of the journey. A single exception was allowed, 
toward evening, in the purchase of a loaf of bread. 

I have no doubt that, had the course of our journey been 
reversed — had we been fresh from the monotony of the 
Plains — we should have found the scenery very delightful. 
Though the glens were hot, close, and dusty, the road occa- 
sionally passed over breezy ridges, whence there were bold 
views of the lower mountains. We missed the breadth and 



THE RETURN TO DENVER. 145 

sweep of the Parks and the Arkansas Valley, with their 
new and wonderful coloring. During the last fortnight the 
soil has become parched and dry, and even the narrow 
patches of meadow, fed by living springs, have a brownish 
hue. The absence of vivid green turf, the scarcity of ferns, 
and the lack of variety in the forms of the timber, are 
noticeable in this portion of the mountains. It occurs to 
me, as I write, that I have not discovered the first speci- 
men of moss since reaching Colorado. Even where there 
is perpetual moisture, moss is absent ; the rock-lichens, 
also, are rare. On the other hand, the flora is superb. 
We had found but very few flowers in the South Park ; 
but now the road was fringed with the loveliest larkspurs, 
columbines, wild roses of powerful and exquisite odor, gilly- 
flowers, lupines, sweet-peas, and coreopsis. The trees were 
principally fir, pine, and aspen. A variety of balsam-fir, 
with young shoots of a pale-blue tint, grew in moist places. 
Those of us who suffered with sunburn or bruises opened 
the gummy blisters of the young trees, and anointed our- 
selves with the balm. In my own case, the effect was 
marvellous, — the pain of days was healed in an hour or 
two. 

We passed two ranches, with their beginnings of agri- 
culture, during the afternoon, and encamped before sunset 
in a charming spot on the banks of the stream. Great 
towers of rock rose on either side, leaving us barely room 
for the beds and camp-fire, beside the roaring water. Up 
the Valley we saw mountain forests and a distant snowy 
peak. Mr. Beard and I decided that our fir-bed, now much 
more skilfully made than at the start, was preferable to 
lodging in any hotel in Colorado. We had stories around 
the camp-fire that evening ; and for the first time during 
the trip no one seemed in haste to get under his blankets. 

We had not gone a mile down the Valley next morning 
before wo came upon another camp, much more luxurious 
than our own. There was a powerful two-horse wagon, a 
10 



146 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

tent, trunks, and provision boxes. The party which had 
thus preempted one of the prettiest spots in the Valley 
consisted of Mr. Ford, the artist, of Chicago, with his wife, 
and Messrs. Gookins and Elkins, also Chicago artists. 
They had made the entire trip from the Missouri in the 
wagon, and were now on their way into the Parks for the 
summer. Mrs. Ford, I was glad to notice, was not the 
least satisfied member of the party, though the artists were 
delighted with what they had found — and the best was 
yet to come. Mr. Whittredge, who crossed the Plains with 
General Pope, was at that time in the neighborhood of 
Pike's Peak ; so that Art has sent jive pioneers to the 
Rocky Mountains this Summer. 

While we were looking over the sketches, the hospitable 
mistress of a ranche a little further down the stream made 
her appearance, with a basket of eggs for Mrs. Ford. She 
could have brought nothing more scarce and valuable — 
not even nuggets of gold. AVe passed a pleasant hour with 
the artists, and then left them to push on toward the South 
Park, our own hope being to get out of the mountains 
before camping. 

Leaving this branch of the Platte, we struck across the 
line of the ranges, which are here intersected by many lat- 
eral valleys. There is a good wagon-road, of a much more 
easy grade than that from Denver to Central City. In one 
of the glens I met Mr. L., of Philadelphia, who called out, 
in passing, — " The President has signed the Railroad 
Bill ! " This was good news to the Coloradians of the 
party. The Smoky Hill route, on account of its forming 
the shortest and most direct connection with St. Louis 
and the eastern cities as far as New York, is becoming 
more and more popular here, especially since it is un- 
certain whether the Central Pacific Railroad will touch 
Denver. 

The day was excessively hot, not only in the glens, but 
upon the heights ; and our animals suffered much from the 



THE RETURN TO DENVER. 147 

attacks of flies. We had a journey of more than thirty 
miles to make ; or nearly ten hours, measuring by the pace 
of the weary horses. When we halted at noon, the mules 
ran into a willow thicket and there remained ; while my 
pony left off grazing and came to me, holding down his 
neck that I might brush away his tormentors. There was 
so little variation in the scenery that I should only confuse 
the reader by attempting to describe it in other than gen- 
eral terms. The peaks of the snowy range were seldom 
visible. It was, apparently, a broken, hilly region, out of 
which rose wooded ridges or isolated summits, faced with 
bold escarpments of rock. The soil was thinly covered 
with grass, gray on the slopes and green in the bottoms ; 
timber was plentiful but not of large size ; yet the few 
evidences of farming which we met from time to time 
showed that a great part of the region may be made pro- 
ductive. We passed a number of ranches in the course 
of the day, in one of which a notable speculation was 
recently made. A daughter being about to be married, 
the mother invited the neighbors far and near to the num- 
ber of forty. They came, supped, danced, and wished 
good luck to the nuptials, and — were each presented with 
a bill of six dollars ! 

As we drew nearer to the Plains, the signs of settlement 
and travel increased. We passed a saw-mill in operation. 
a two-story hotel at a place called Junction (whence there 
is a road to Central City), and many a "preempted " tract 
in the sheltered little valleys. Late in the afternoon we 
reached Bradford's Bill, Mr. Byers cheering us up the 
ascent with the assurance that it was the last of the Rocky 
Mountains. For nearly two miles we toiled along in the 
scorching sun, sometimes pausing in the thin aspen shade 
to look backward on some rock-buttressed peak. The 
summit was wooded, but an opening presently disclosed to 
our sight a far, blue horizon-line, probably a hundred miles 
to the eastward. It was only a passing glimpse, and as 
comforting as water in a thirsty land. 



148 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

On the first step of the descent, I found for the first 
time — oaks. They were small saplings, which had sprung 
up where the large primitive trees had been felled. Mr. 
Byers informed me that he had frequently seen trunks two 
feet in diameter, all of which have now disappeared. The 
mountain pine is a soft, spongy wood, liable to a great deal 
of shrinkage ; the carpenters even declare that it shrinks 
"endwise." Cotton- wood is only fit for interior work, so 
that good building lumber is scarce, in spite of the abun- 
dant forests. I am not surprised that the oaks were swept 
away, but I regret that it was necessary. 

I have said nothing of the wild fruits of the mountains, 
which have become of some importance in the absence of 
orchards. The currants, gooseberries, and service-berries 
(amelanchier) are found everywhere ; the bushes are small, 
yet bear profusely. Whortleberries are also found, but not 
in such quantities. There is a wild red cherry, a plum, 
and, in the southern part of the territory, grapes. Straw- 
berries carpet the forests up to the line of snow, but will 
not be ripe for two or three weeks to come. They resem- 
ble precisely the small, fragrant fruit of Switzerland and 
Norway. With the exception of the " Oregon grape " (ma- 
ko?iia), I noticed no new varieties of fruit. The cones of 
the pinones appear to be the only edible nuts. There is a 
singular poverty in the Rocky Mountain sylva. 

While we were discussing the matter of oaks, the road 
climbed a little ridge, turned around a bare, stony head- 
land, and — there ! Half a continent seemed to lie beneath 
us. We stood on the eaves of the mountains, above all 
the soil between us and the Atlantic Ocean. As from the 
car of a balloon, or the poise of a bird in mid-air, we looked 
down on an immense hemisphere of plain, stretching so 
far that we could only guess at its line of union with the 
sky. North, south, and east, the vision easily reached a 
hundred miles. Wild plain, farm-land, and river-courses 
were as distinctly marked and colored as on a map. We 



THE RETURN TO DENVER. 149 

* 

saw the South Platte, issuing from its mountain gateway, 
gathering Plum, Cherry, and Bear Creeks, skirting Den- 
ver, and curving far away on its course toward Julesburg 
and Nebraska. Beyond Denver, the valleys of Clear Creek, 
Boulder, Thompson, and St. Vrains were distinctly marked, 
and somewhere in the vapors of the horizon lay Cache-la- 
Poudre. Scarcely a house or a tree in all this vast land- 
scape was hidden from view. Its uniform tint of dead 
gold contrasted exquisitely with the soft blue-gray and 
pink-flushed snows of Long's Peak and his neighboring 
summits in the north. 

Looking at the base of the mountains immediately be- 
low us, I became aware of a remarkable feature of their 
structure. Parallel with the general direction of their 
bases, and from a quarter to half a mile distant, ran a 
straight outcropping of vertical rock, abruptly broken 
through by the streams which issued upon the plains. 
Each section of this ridge, which was from one to two 
hundred feet in height, resembled a ship's hull, keel up- 
ward. They are called " hog's-backs " in Colorado. Not 
only is their formation distinct from that of the mountains, 
but they are composed of different rock — mostly lime- 
stone, gypsum, or alabaster. Their peculiar appearance 
suggests the idea of their having been forced up by the 
settling buck of the great chain of the Rocky Mountains, 
after upheaval. I am told that this formation extends for 
a long distance along the eastern base of the mountains. 

As the road wound back and forth down the bare, tree- 
less slope, contracting the semicircle of the plains, the ob- 
jects enclosed within this lower rampart attracted us more 
and more. Much of the space near at hand was already 
farmed, and green with lush fields of wheat, and the nar- 
row terrace which it formed, seemed, at first sight, to have 
been inhabited for thousands of years. What appeared 
to be the ruins of giant cities arose behind the walls of 
rock, casting their shadows across the green. Rude natu- 



150 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

ral towers, obelisks, and pyramids, monoliths two hundred 
feet in height, of a rich red color, were gathered in strange 
labyrinthine groups, suggesting arrangement or design. 
Beyond the Platte there was a collection of several hun- 
dred of these. Mr. Byers, who had visited the place, 
assured me that they greatly surpass the curious rock- 
images near Colorado City, called the " Garden of the 
Gods." A nearer view of them through a glass filled me 
with astonishment. I saw single rocks a hundred feet 
square, and nearly as high as Trinity spire, worn into the 
most fantastic outlines, and in such numbers that days 
might be spent in examining them. On our own road 
there were several detached specimens of lesser height, 
and beyond Bear Creek two lofty masses of a rude Gothic 
character. The wonders of Colorado have not yet been 
half explored, much less painted. 

Our proposed camping-place lay inside the nearest " hog- 
back," at the foot of one of those rocky masses. We came 
down the long slant and reached the spot before sunset, 
less fatigued by the journey than by the great labor (both 
of spirit and flesh) of keeping up the failing courage of 
our animals. Our bread was at an end, but Colonel Brad- 
ford's ranche, with its stately stone residence, seemed to 
offer indefinite supplies ; so, after unsaddling beside the 
rock and turning the beasts loose to graze, we called upon 
the Colonel in a body. He kindly gave us all he had — 
not bread, but flour and soda, a bunch of onions from the 
garden, and a wash-basin full of lettuce. Moreover, we 
had unlimited water from a spring in the garden, and milk 
from the dairy. The Colonel, a native of Alabama, is 
justly proud of his ranche, the location of which is won- 
derfully picturesque. 

Mr. Sumner and I made slapjacks of the flour, and with 
a little exertion we got up a passable meal at twilight. 
Our beds were soon made among the fragrant herbs, and 
the night passed rapidly and quietly, except that a coyote 



THE RETURN TO DENVER. 151 

stole the remainder of our pork. The breakfast, however, 
was a matter of .little consequence, as we expected to dine 
in Denver. A fierce African sun came up in the cloudless 
sky, driving away in ten minutes the scanty dew that had 
fallen. After more coffee and slapjacks we packed hastily 
and started on the last pull of sixteen miles. Four of the 
gentlemen determined to go up Bear Creek and fish for 
trout; Messrs. Beard and Thomas, with the mule-team, 
and I on my pony, made a direct line for civilization. 

By the time we reached Bear Creek crossing, the heat 
was intense. My pony had at last reached the limit of his 
performance, and I was fain to dismount, seat myself in the 
rear of the wagon, and pull him after us with the lariat. 
We resisted the shady invitation of the " Pennsylvania 
Hotel " beside the stream, admired as much as was possi- 
ble in our condition the splendid fields of wheat, farm suc- 
ceeding to farm from the mountains to the Platte, and then 
took to the rolling, fiery upland. Two hours more, and 
from a ridge we hailed Denver, only three miles away, its 
brick blocks flashing in the sun, its square spire shooting 
above the dark green cotton-woods, and its shallow river 
reflecting the blue of the zenith — a consoling sight ! 

What life there was in the mules, had to come out then : 
we all became suddenly conscious that we were dirty, rag- 
ged, hungry, thirsty, and terribly fatigued. An intense 
longing for the comforts and conveniences of life moved 
our souls : Denver became to us what New York is to the 
moral native of Connecticut. I am not ashamed to confess 
that we halted at the lager-beer brewery, half a mile from 
the town, and took a refreshing draught to correct the 
effects of the "thin air and alkali water." 

The Platte bridge was crossed and we entered the streets, 
a party more picturesque than respectable in appearance. 
There were three battered wide-awakes ; three flannel 
shirts, one scarlet, one blue, and one gray ; three brown 



152 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

faces, one skinless nose, and one purple ditto. ; dusty rolls 
of blankets, a bent coffee-pot, a box of colors, and some 
saddles. This was the picture which slowly moved up 
Laramie and F Streets, and stopped at the door of the 
Pacific Hotel. 



XIX. 

A TRIP TO BOULDER VALLEY. 

Denver, Colorado, July 14, 1866. 

My days in Colorado are drawing rapidly to an end. The 
term of the summer holiday which I have allowed myself 
is nearly over ; yet while I have every reason to be satis- 
fied with what has been seen and done in a brief space of 
time, I find myself regretting, at the close, that I am not 
able to make my survey of the territory more complete. 

The change from camp-life in the mountains to the com- 
parative luxury of a hotel in Denver, was so very agreeable 
that for two days I did little else than enjoy it, and com- 
plete my lost knowledge of the world's doings, up to the 
point of comprehending the telegrams of national and for- 
eign news. The weather was almost insupportably hot 
during the day — 98° in the shade — and the better part 
of one's life was expended from eight o'clock in the morn- 
ing until sunset, in a vain effort to be cool. Every after- 
noon a lurid mass of clouds gathered along the sunny 
range, distant thunders echoed among the peaks, lightnings 
dashed feebly through the shadows, and the storm dissolved 
again. We were just near enough to gasp in its sultriness, 
without catching a drop of its refreshment. 

Before setting out on my mountain trip, I had made an 
engagement to visit the Boulder Valley, twenty-five miles 
to the north of Denver. Yesterday was the appointed day. 
and when the morning came with a burning, breathless 
heat, I lamented, — for a moment, only, — the necessity 
of the journey. It was the usual shudder before the 



154 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

plunge. My faithful pony had been sent back to his pas- 
tures in the Middle Park, and I took a saddle-horse at five 
dollars per day, at a livery-stable. I had the owner's word 
that he was a good animal ; but the result proved, for the 
hundredth time, a truth which I long ago discovered — 
that all men who have much to do with horses become de- 
moralized. Mr. Thomas, of the " Chicago Tribune," had 
agreed to accompany me, so that I was sure, at least, of 
cheerful society on the way. 

"We rode out of Denver by the Salt Lake stage road, 
which runs northward, parallel with the mountains, for near 
a hundred miles. In the morning air, the snowy peaks, 
from Pike's to far beyond Long's, were free from clouds, 
and I was struck with the great diminution of snow upon 
their sides, since I first saw them. At the same rate of 
melting they will be almost entirely bare in another month. 
I doubt whether the line of perpetual snow can here be 
placed lower than thirteen thousand feet : in the Alps it is 
not more than eight thousand. Their forms were no less 
imposing, after seeing the grand landscapes of the Parks, 
and there was a constant refreshment in turning from the 
heated shimmer of the Plains to the sight of their gorges 
in cool shadow, the dark, cloudy patches of their pine for- 
ests, and even the bare outlines of their rocky pinnacles, 
suggesting tempered sunshine and the breezes of the upper 
sky. 

In four miles we reached Clear Creek, at a point above 
Captain Sopris's ranche. The stream was so swollen by 
the melting snows, that half the bottom was overflowed, 
and we rode for a furlong in water up to the horses' bellies. 
Irrigation seemed unnecessary ; but the cultivated land is 
a mile or more in breadth, and we found the outer ditches 
full. The wheat is in head, and finer crops I never saw, 
except in California. TVe passed no field which will pro- 
duce less than thirty bushels to the acre. It is now con- 
sidered secure beyond damage from smut or grasshoppers. 



A TKIP TO BOULDER VALLEY. 155 

The sight of such splendid and bounteous agriculture, 
here, in the very heart of the continent, is inexpressibly 
cheering. 

The roads leading into Denver from the east, and out of 
it toward the west, north, and south, now begin to be pop- 
ulous with the usual summer emigration. A considerable 
number of wagons bring settlers to the Territory — though 
less than there would be, were its climate and resources 
generally understood ; large freight trains are on their way 
to Salt Lake (which I hear has become an important 
business centre, with a population of twenty-five thousand) : 
and many emigrants, bound for Montana and Idaho, have 
been obliged to make a detour of two hundred miles, 
through Denver, in order to get over the swollen Platte. 
One meets, every day, the same variety of characters — 
the lazy, shiftless emigrant, always trying new countries 
and prospering in none ; the sharp, keen, enterprising emi- 
grant, who would do fairly anywhere, and will rise very 
rapidly here ; the shabby-genteel adventurer, on the look- 
out for chances of speculation or office ; and the brutal, 
ignorant adventurer, who, some morning, will leave the 
country " up a tree." The " Rocky Mountain News " will 
then chronicle the fact in a paragraph headed : " And he 
went." 

The white wagon-covers of some of these parties con- 
tribute to the popular literature of the Plains. Many of 
them are inscribed with the emigrant's name, home, and 
destination, " accompanied " (as the applicants for auto- 
graphs say) " with a sentiment." I noticed one which was 
simply entitled " The Sensible Child." Another had this 
mysterious sentence, which I will not undertake to explain : 
"Cold Cuts and Pickled Kel's Feet." -The Red Bull," 
and M Blind Your Business," were equally suggestive ; but 
the most thrilling wagon-cover was that which met our eyes 
on crossing the Platte Bridge, and whereon we read : " llcll- 
Roaring Bill, from Bitter Creek ! " In the shade of the 



156 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

cover, between the wheels, Hell-Roaring Bill himself was 
resting. He looked upon us with a mild, sleepy eye ; his 
face and breast were dyed by the sun to almost the exact 
color of his hair ; his general appearance was peculiar, but 
not alarming. When we returned this morning he had de- 
parted, and, if all they say of Bitter Creek be true, I think 
he has done well in changing his residence. 

After leaving the wheat fields of Clear Creek, we rose 
again to the " second bottoms," or rolling table-land (this 
sounds like a bull, but it describes the thing), where the 
crimson and golden blossoms of the cactus burned in the 
intense sunshine, all over the scorched, cracked soiL Thus 
we rode over the tawny, treeless swells, for seven or eight 
miles, in a suffocating heat. We then left the stage road, 
and took a trail leading to the iron and coal mines of Bel- 
mont, at the base of the mountains. The thunder-storm 
was already collecting in the southward, and drew toward 
us, following the range and blotting out peak after peak in 
its course. Presently the clear, cool shadows crept down 
from the upper heights, quenching the fiery red glare of the 
masses of rock, two thousand feet in height, before us ; 
then it touched the Plains, crept nearer to us, and the sting 
of the sun was withdrawn. 

The local limits of these storms was very strikingly 
marked. At the distance of a few miles from the moun- 
tains the clouds ceased to spread. Though behind us they 
gloomed like night, and under their grand, majestic arch 
we looked into distant floods of rain and lightning, the 
eastern half of the sky remained cloudless, and the Plains, 
for leagues away, smouldered in fiercest heat. The rain, 
also, seemed to be confined to a second limit, inside the 
line of cloud. The great irregular pyramid of Long's 
Peak, full in front of us, became a shadow on the air ; the 
vast nearer piles of red rock were silvered with slanting 
sheets, and we expected, every moment, to feel the drops. 
But the sheets moved on, northward, as if with half-spread 



A TRIP TO BOULDER VALLEY. 157 

wings : we only touched their outer edge, on reaching Bel- 
mont, and that, because we rode toward them. 

This is a charming little valley, at the base of the moun- 
tains. The outcropping of limestone, and the black piles 
at the mouths of coal drifts indicated our approach to it. 
On dropping into a little winding hollow, we soon saw the 
massive smelting furnace surrounded by clustered cabins. 
Mr. Marshall, the proprietor, received us at the door of his 
residence, and, after dinner, piloted us to the furnace and 
mines. There are eleven veins of coal, varying from four 
to twelve feet in thickness, in the space of half a mile ; 
iron ore of a richness of fifty per cent, just beyond it, and 
the best limestone, in almost inexhaustible quantities. Mr. 
Marshall, however, has only experimented with the native 
ores sufficiently to establish their value. He finds it more 
profitable to buy up abandoned machinery at a trifling cost, 
and recast it. The furnace is not only substantially but 
handsomely built, and has thus far done a thriving and suc- 
cessful business for its owner. 

Our inspection of the place was necessarily hurried, as I 
had an engagement for the evening at the new town of Val- 
mont, some eight or ten miles down the Boulder Valley. I 
looked longingly toward the magnificent gorge by which the 
South Boulder issues from the mountains, and the sheltered 
semi-basin beyond, where we saw the town of Boulder 
above the cotton-woods ; but there was not time (without 
better horses) to extend our journey so far. The extent 
and beauty of the cultivated land watered by the two 
streams, was a new surprise. For miles farm followed 
farm in uninterrupted succession, the breadths of wheat, 
black-green in its richness, or overrun with a yellowing 
gleam, dotted with houses and clumps of trees, like some 
fenceless harvest-plain of Europe! A spur of softly-tinted 
hills in the north, the solitary, rock-crowned hill of Yal- 
mont in the east, the snows of Long's Peak to the north- 
west — these were the features enframing the lovely val- 



158 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

ley. Here I saw again how much Civilization improves 
Nature. 

We were full two hours in reaching Valmont, on account 
of the very independent habits of the Colorado farmers. 
The second bottoms being devoted to grazing purposes, 
they have found it necessary to fence the outer edge of the 
farm land ; and, in so doing, they cut off the road with the 
most utter disregard of the public. If there are laws in 
relation to roads, they seem to be a dead letter. That 
which should be the first business of a territorial govern- 
ment, is left to a time when it can only be regulated by a 
great deal of trouble and expense. Our National Govern- 
ment acts in the most niggardly manner toward its incipi- 
ent States. There should be at least a million of dollars 
annually spent in each Territory between the Mississippi 
and the Pacific, on roads and bridges. 

In spite of the tedious zigzags we were forced to make, 
the views of the broad, prosperous, and thickly-settled 
Boulder region, made our ride very enjoyable. On ap- 
proaching the isolated hill which had been pointed out to 
us as indicating the position of Valmont, we were surprised 
to find no sign of a village. The dark wheat-plains swept 
up to its base, masses of rock looked down from its summit, 
and the rosy ridges toward St. Vrains lay beyond. We 
turned a corner where the fields had almost forced the road 
off the level, and there stood perhaps a dozen new cabins, 
and a few scattering cotton-woods. But of these cabins 
one was a store, one a printing-office, and one a Presbyte- 
rian church. So it was Valmont. 

We found comfortable quarters at the house of Mr. 
Jones, a farmer, who has been on the spot six or seven 
years, and has made himself a pleasant home. After sup- 
per, the other farmers began to arrive from up and down 
the stream, and even from St. Vrains — shrewd, intelligent 
men, every one of them, and with an air of health and 
vigor which speaks well for the climate. I would have 



A TRIP TO BOULDER VALLEY. 159 

much preferred talking with them all the evening to lec- 
turing in the church. I wondered, on arriving, where an 
audience was to come from, and was not a little astonished 
to find more than a hundred persons gathered together. 
What I had looked upon as a task became a pleasure, and 
the evening I spent at Valmont was one of my pleasantest 
in Colorado. 

The people informed me that the farming on the St. 
Vrains is fully equal to what I saw on the Boulder — that 
the valleys of the Big and Little Thompson, and even of 
the Cache-la-Poudre, are settled and cultivated, and will this 
year produce splendid crops. The line of settlement is 
thus not only creeping northward and southward from 
Denver, but, also, following the tributaries of the Platte, it 
advances eastward to meet the great tide approaching it. 
I verily believe that it will not be more than two or three 
years before there is a continuous belt of settlement — 
probably two of them — from the Missouri to the Rocky 
Mountains. 

I was introduced to one of the original eight squatters in 
Boulder Valley. He tells a singular story of their experi- 
ence with the Indians, when they first settled here, in 1859. 
Where the town of Boulder now is, was one of the favorite 
camping-grounds of the former. They not only warned 
the intruders away, but threatened to exterminate them if 
they remained. The eight men, however, constructed a 
rude fort, and made preparations to stand a siege. Hostil- 
ities commenced and were carried on for some time, when, 
one day, the besieged noticed signs of commotion in the 
Indian camp. Toward evening a warrior arrived, demand- 
ing a parley. They hesitated for a while, but finally ad- 
mitted him, whereupon he stated that the medicine-man of 
the tribe had dreamed, the night before, of stars falling 
from heaven and a flood from the mountains sweeping away 
their camp. This he interpreted as a warning that they 
should leave, and the tribe, therefore, were preparing to 



160 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

depart. The next morning they packed their tents, and 
after uttering in concert a mighty howl of lamentation, 
went out on the Plains, and never afterward returned. 

We started early this morning, to avoid the terrific mid- 
day heats. For our entertainment and that of our horses, 
at Valmont, we were only asked to pay two dollars and a 
half each. The farms were lovelier than ever in the fresh 
morning light, and as we paused on a ridge to take a last 
look at the place, we pronounced it the prettiest village-site 
in Colorado. Then came the open, unsheltered, rolling 
Plains, gathering heat and dryness from hour to hour. 
Toward noon the inevitable storm crept along the moun- 
tains, but we were outside of its shadow, under the burning 
half of the sky — and long indeed were the last few miles 
which brought us into Denver. My face still burns with 
the blistering heat absorbed during the ride ; but I rejoice 
that I have seen Boulder Valley before leaving the Rocky 
Mountains. 



XX. 

COLORADO AS A SUMMER RESORT. 

Denver, Colorado, July 15, 1866. 

This is my last night in Denver. After a month beside 
and amon£ the Rocky Mountains, I am going (as the peo- 
ple here say) "to America." My place is taken in the 
stage which leaves to-morrow morning for the East, by the 
Platte route. 

Had not the commencement of the rainy season and the 
condition of our animals prevented me from reaching 
Canon and Colorado cities, my tour would have embraced 
all of the mountain regions which are easily accessible, 
and some that are not so. What I have seen is amply 
sufficient to convince me how much more there is to 
see. During a journey on horseback of four hundred 
miles, which led me through two of the three Parks, and 
thrice across the great range, I have obtained a tolerably 
extensive knowledge of the climate, scenery, and other 
features of a region which is destined, I think, to become 
for us what Switzerland is to Europe. Our artists, with 
true instinct, have first scented this fact, and they are the 
pioneers who point out to ignorant Fashion the way it 
should go. 

Whoever comes to the Rocky Mountains with pictures 
of the Alps in his memory, expecting to find them repeated 
on a grander and wilder scale, will certainly be disappointed. 
He will find no upper world of unbroken snow, as in the 
Bernese Oberland ; no glaciers, thrusting far down be- 
tween the forests their ever-moving fronts of ice ; no con- 



162 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

trast of rich and splendid vegetation in the valleys; no 
flashing waterfalls ; no slopes of bright green pasturage ; 
no moss ; and but rarely the gleam of lakes and rivers, 
seen from above. With no less lofty chain can the Rocky 
Mountains be measured, it is true ; but it is merely a gen- 
eral comparison of height, not of resemblance in any im- 
portant feature. 

In the first place, the atmospheric effects are those 
which result from the intense dryness of the heart of 
a continent in the temperate zone. The Alps not only 
touch the Mediterranean at either extremity, but are no 
further from the Atlantic than from here to the Missouri 
River. Four or five cloudless days in succession are con- 
sidered a rare good fortune by the tourist; the higher 
peaks are seldom without their drapery of shifting cloud. 
Here a clear sky is the rule. There is seldom vapor 
enough — except just at present; during the brief rainy 
season — for the artist's needs. Perspective is only ob- 
tained by immense distances. The wonderful, delicate 
grays of the mountain landscapes demand changes of light 
and shadow which are often lacking ; they lie too barely 
in the broad, unobstructed sunshine. Yet an air more 
delicious to breathe can scarcely be found anywhere. It is 
neither too sedative nor too exciting ; but has that pure, 
sweet, flexible quality which seems to support all one's hap- 
piest and healthiest moods. Moreover, it holds in solution 
an exquisite variety of odors. Whether the resin of the 
coniferous trees, the balm of the sage-bush, or the breath 
of the orchis and wild rose, it is equally grateful and life- 
giving. After a day in this atmosphere you have the light- 
est and most restorative slumber you ever knew. 

On first entering the Rocky Mountains, you find the 
scenery rugged, cramped, and somewhat monotonous. 
Press forward, and they open anon — the higher the sum- 
mits become the more breadth of base, the clearer outline 
they demand. They push away the crowd of lower ridges, 



COLORADO AS A SUMMER RESORT. 163 

leaving valleys for the streams, parks with every variety of 
feature, and finally gather into well-defined ranges, or 
spurs of ranges, giving you still broader and grander land- 
scapes. 

The San Luis Park, from the accounts I have heard, 
must be equally remarkable. It is on a much grander 
scale, and has the advantage of a milder climate, from its 
lesser elevation above the sea-level. The North Park is 
rarely visited except by an occasional prospecter or trap- 
per. It has no settlement, as yet, and I have met with no 
one who has thoroughly explored it. There are a number 
of smaller parks on both sides of the main chain, and 
some of them are said to possess great natural beauties. 
The singular rock formations at the eastern base of the 
mountains furnish in themselves a rare and most original 
field for the tourist and the artist. The glimpse I had of 
those on the south bank of the Platte, on my return from 
the South Park, satisfy me that they surpass in magnitude 
and picturesque distortion the celebrated basaltic forma- 
tions of Saxony. 

It was part of my plan to have ascended either Pike's or 
Long's Peak, but I find that it is too soon in the season to 
make the attempt. Pike's Peak is comparatively easy of 
ascent; the summit, thirteen thousand two hundred feet 
above the level of the sea, has several times been reached 
by ladies. It is a very laborious, but in no sense a danger- 
ous undertaking. On account of its isolated position, the 
view from the top, in favorable weather, must be one of the 
finest panoramas in the world. Long's Peak has never yet 
been ascended. Mr. Byers, two years ago, reached a point 
about five hundred feet below the summit, and was then 
compelled to return, lie is quite confident, however, that 
it can be scaled from another side, and if the summer were 
six weeks further advanced, I should be willing to join him 
in making the attempt. On the northern side he says 
there is a valley or rather gulf, with walls of perpendicular 



164 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

rock between two and three thousand feet in height, resem- 
bling a section of the Yosemite. 

A comparison of this peak with Mont Blanc — the alti- 
tude of both being just about the same — may give a clear 
idea of the differences between the Alps and the Rocky 
Mountains. When you see Mont Blanc from the western 
part of Lake Leman, in July or August, he appears to 
you as a dome of complete snow, the few rocky pinnacles 
which pierce his mantle being hardly discernible specks. 
He is a white vision on the horizon. Long's Peak, at the 
same distance, is of the faint blue or purple which a rocky 
mass assumes, veined and streaked with white, but showing 
only one snow-field of much apparent extent. His outline 
is very fine, — a little sharper than Mont Blanc, — the 
western side (as seen from Denver) having convex, and 
the eastern principally concave curves. He rests on a dark, 
broad base of forest and rock, his snows marking the 
courses of deep clefts and ravines. At present, the top- 
most summit is bare on the southern side. It is rare that 
one sees Mont Blanc from summit to base : I have not 
yet seen Long's Peak (except during a passing thunder- 
shower) otherwise. 

I do not think the parks and the upper valleys of the 
mountains will produce anything except hardy vegetables, 
and perhaps barley and rye. But they abound with the 
richest grasses ; and " Colorado cheese " may one day be as 
celebrated as Gruyere or Neufchatel. They offer precisely 
those things which the summer tourist seeks — pure air, 
lovely nights, the finest milk, butter, trout, and game, and 
a variety of mineral springs. The summer climate I know ; 
and I am told that the winter is equally enjoyable. It 
sounds almost incredible to hear of persons in the latitude 
of New York, and eight thousand feet above the sea, rarely 
needing an overcoat during the whole winter season. 
There is a great depth of snow, and an occasional severe 
day, but the skies are generally cloudless, and the air tem- 



COLORADO AS A SUMMER RESORT. 165 

perate and bracing. The extremes of heat and cold are 
greater in Denver than in the mountains. As nearly as 1 
can learn, the coldest weather yet experienced in San Luis 
Park, was seven degrees below zero ; in the Middle Park, 
fifteen degrees ; and in Denver, thirty degrees below. 

The heavy snow-fall, while it is a godsend to the agri- 
culture of Colorado, by swelling all the streams at the very 
season when water is needed for irrigation, nevertheless 
interferes with the mining interests. There are many rich 
placers in the mountains where gold-washing can only be 
carried on for three or four months in the year, and even 
the stamp and smelting mills are hindered in procuring 
their supplies. It will also be the principal difficulty 
which the Pacific Railroad will be obliged to overcome. 
All other obstacles are much less than I had imagined. 
Greater achievements have already been done in rail- 
roading than the passage of the Rocky Mountains. By 
the Clear Creek, the South Park, or the Arkansas Valley, 
the Pacific slope can be reached, with not much more 
labor than you find on the Baltimore and Ohio road be- 
tween Piedmont and Grafton. The facilities of construc- 
tion beyond the range, however, must determine where the 
range should be crossed. A thorough exploration of the 
region watered by the Green and Bine Rivers must first 
be made. 

I am, therefore, quite unable to tell you where the road 
will cross the Rocky Mountains ; it is enough that they 
will be crossed. My conjectures — given for what they 
may be worth — take this form : that the Central Pacific 
Railroad, now rapidly advancing up the Platte, will cross 
in the neighborhood of Bridger's Pass ; that the Eastern 
Division will follow the Smoky Hill, and make directly for 
Denver ; that a road running northward along the base of 
the mountains will connect the two; that this road will then 
be extended to Montana on one side and New Mexico on 
the other; and that, finally, a second central read will be 



166 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

pushed westward from Denver into and across the Middle 
Park, and so to Nevada. The business of Colorado alone, 
with the stimulus which a completed road would give, will 
keep that road fully employed. By the time the last rail 
is spiked down on the road connecting New York and San 
Francisco, we shall want, not one line across the continent, 
hut Jive. 

I hazard nothing, at least, in predicting that Colorado 
will soon be recognized as our Switzerland. The ener- 
vated luxury, the ignorant and imitative wealth, and the 
overtasked business of our cities, will come hither, in all 
future summers, for health, and rest, and recreation. 
Where Kit Carson chased Arapahoes, and Fremont's men 
ate mule-meat, and Jim Beckworth went through apoc- 
ryphal adventures, there will be drawling dandies, maidens 
both fast and slow, ungrammatical mammas, and the heavi- 
est of fathers. The better sort of people will come first, 
nor be scared away afterward by the rush of the unappre- 
ciating. We shall, I hope, have Alpine clubs, intelligent 
guides, good roads, bridges, and access to a thousand won- 
ders yet unknown. It will be a national blessing when this 
region is opened to general travel. That time is not now 
distant. Before the close of 1868 Denver will only be four 
days from New York, and you can go through with one 
change of cars. Therefore I am doubly glad that I have 
come noiv, while there are still buffaloes and danger of In- 
dians on the Plains, camp-fires to build in the mountains, 
rivers to swim, and landscapes to enjoy which have never 
yet been described. 

The weather continues intensely hot by day, with cool 
and perfect nights. Sometimes the edge of the regular 
afternoon thunder-storm overlaps Denver, and lays the hot 
dust of the streets. These storms are superb aerial pict- 
ures. After they pass, their cloudy ruins become the 
material out of which the setting sun constructs unimag- 
inable splendors. If I were to give the details of them it 



COLORADO AS A SUMMER RESORT. 167 

would seem like color run mad. Such cool rose-gray, such 
transparent gold, such purple velvet as are worn by the 
mountains and clouds, are fresh wonders to me every 
evening. The vault of heaven seems ampler than else- 
where ; the lines of cloud cover vaster distances, — proba- 
bly because a hundred miles of mountains give you a more 
palpable measure of their extent, — and your eye recog- 
nizes infinite shades, gradations, and transitions either un- 
seen before or unnoticed. This amplification of the sky 
and sky-effects struck me when I first entered upon the 
Plains. It is grand, even there ; but here, with such acces- 
sories, it is truly sublime. 

I do not now wonder at the attachment of the inhab- 
itants of the territory for their home. These mountains 
and this atmosphere insensibly become a portion of their 
lives. I foresee that they will henceforth be among the 
clearest and most vivid episodes of mine. 



XXI. 

HOMEWARD, ALONG THE PLATTE. 

Omaha, Nebraska, July 21, 1866. 

On Monday morning last, Mr. Beard and I took our 
seats in the overland coach, at Denver. Our hopes of a 
comfortable trip were blasted at the outset : there were 
seven passengers, for Fort Kearney, and four for the 
" Junction," as it is called, on the Platte. The fare of one 
hundred and twenty-five dollars which one pays the Hol- 
laday Company, is simply for transportation: it includes 
neither space nor convenience, much less comfort. The 
coaches are built on the presumption that the American 
people are lean and of diminutive stature — a mistake At 
which we should wonder the more, were it not that many 
of our railroad companies suffer under the same delusion. 
With a fiery sky overhead, clouds of fine dust rising from 
beneath, and a prospect of buffalo-gnats and mosquitoes 
awaiting us, we turned our faces toward " America " in no 
very cheerful mood. 

The adieus to kind friends were spoken, the mail-bags 
and way-bill were delivered to the coachman, the whip 
cracked as a sign that our journey of six hundred miles had 
commenced, and our six horses soon whirled us past the 
last house of Denver. The programme of the journey was 
as follows: across the Plains in an east-by-northern course 
to the Platte, eighty-five miles ; thence to Julesburg, on the 
line between Colorado and Nebraska, one hundred and fif- 
teen miles more ; thence, still following the Platte, to Fort 
Kearney, two hundred miles more ; thence to the western 



HOMEWARD, ALONG THE PLATTE. 169 

end of the Central Pacific Railroad, wherever we might 
find it. The agent of the Overland Mail Company in Den- 
ver was unable to give me any information upon this latter 
point. There were rumors that the trains had reached Co- 
lumbus, one hundred miles west of Omaha, and we pre- 
ferred to believe them, as they made our anticipations of 
stage travel less formidable. 

It was eight o'clock when we started, and with every hour 
the heat and dust increased. The long range of the Rocky 
Mountains, to which we fondly looked back, no longer re- 
freshed us with their distant appearance of coolness ; they 
might rather be compared to enamelled pictures of pale 
violet, slowly fixing their colors in a furnace of quivering 
heat. The green of the Plains was rapidly drying into a 
tawny hue, and only the cactus, with its splendid flowers, 
seemed to rejoice in the season. The long swells, extend- 
ing north and south, between the tributaries of the Platte, 
gave some little variety to the road. In the hollows the 
presence of dark-foliaged cotton-woods told of subterranean 
moisture, although the creek beds showed only dry, hot 
gravel. The horses were changed at intervals of eight or 
ten miles, and, when we had made four stations, I was 
agreeably surprised on our halting for dinner at a neat 
frame cottage, with stable and post-office adjoining. The 
meal, at one dollar and fifty cents, was excellent, the water 
alone having a suspicious flavor of alkali. "We made use 
of a corrective which I would recommend to all travellers — 
two or three lemons cut into pieces which can be stuffed 
into a bottle, which fill with good whiskey. 

In the afternoon, when the breathless heat and fine, suf- 
focating dust were scarcely to be endured, there came a 
merciful relief. The mountain thunder-storm either took 
a wider sweep than usual, or varied from its course at the 
head-waters of ( lierry Creek, and came down the divides 
toward us. The cool shadows crept over the landscape, 
and after a time the rain followed. Then ensued a new 



170 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

annoyance : our outside passengers came in, and ten large 
persons must occupy the space designed for nine dwarfs. 
Toward evening the clouds lifted for an hour or two, and 
we took our last look at the Mountains, lying dark and low 
on the horizon. The passengers for the Junction were 
pleasant fellows, and I mean no disrespect in saying that 
their room was better than their company. After sunset 
another setting in of rain drove them upon us, and by 
eleven at night (when we reached their destination) we 
were all so cramped and benumbed, that I found myself 
wondering which of the legs under my eyes were going to 
get out of the coach. I took it for granted that the near- 
est pair that remained belonged to myself. 

The artist and I had now possession of the back seat ; 
but our condition was not greatly improved. We tried 
various devices with rolls of blankets, but all to no pur- 
pose. The coach is so ingeniously constructed that there 
are no corners to receive one's head. There is, it is true, 
an illusive semblance of a corner ; if you trust yourself to 
it, you are likely to lean out with your arm on the hind 
wheel. Nodding, shifting of tortured joints, and an occa- 
sional groan, made up the night. There was no moon, and 
nothing was visible except the dark circle of the Plains 
against the sky. 

At four o'clock in the morning, as the daylight was 
creeping up under the clouds, we halted at a singular sta- 
tion. A wall of adobes three feet thick and six in height, 
pierced with loop-holes for musketry, confronted us. The 
top was rudely machicolated, and ov*er the main entrance 
was the inscription, " Fort Wicked." Entering the fortress, 
we found a long adobe cabin, one part of which was occu- 
pied as a store, well stocked with groceries, canned pro- 
visions, and liquors. A bearded man, with a good-natured 
but determined air, asked us if we would stop for break- 
fast. It was Mr. Godfrey himself, the builder and defender 
of the fort, which is known all along the Platte as - God- 



HOMEWARD, ALONG THE PLATTE. 171 

frey's Ranche." Here, last fall, he, his wife, and " another 
man," withstood a siege of two days by three hundred In- 
dians, who finally retreated, after losing seventeen of their 
number. Mr. Godfrey boldly announces that he will never 
surrender. He is now well prepared, and the rumors of a 
new Indian war do not give him the least anxiety. He is 
" bad medicine " to the tribes of the Plains, who are as 
cowardly as they are cruel. The stable and corral are 
defended by similar intrenchments. 

We had breakfast after an hour's delay, and then set 
forward for Julesburg, which was still some eighty miles 
distant. Daylight revealed the Platte on our left — a nar- 
row, winding, muddy stream, with no timber on its banks. 
On either side the same bare, brown plain rolled away to 
the horizon ; streaks of sandy soil made the road toilsome 
to our teams, but as the stations did not average more than 
ten miles apart we made fair progress. The broad, well- 
beaten road swarmed with freight teams as the day ad- 
vanced, and the condition of their cattle showed the 
excellence of the pasturage on this route. The brown- 
ness and apparent barrenness even of this portion of the 
Plains does not indicate a sterile soil, though it is undoubt- 
edly more arid and sandy than any part of the Smoky Hill 
route. 

The weather favored us beyond expectation. The day 
was overcast and delightfully cool ; mosquitoes and buffalo- 
gnats did not molest us, and every station we left behind 
added to our peace of mind. There was little to see be- 
yond the fact that no part of this region is naturally a 
desert. The game has been driven away — even prairie- 
dogs are scarce ; — where there was timber it has been de- 
stroyed (fire-wood was furnished to the military post at 
Julesburg last winter at one hundred and twenty-seven dol- 
lars per cord !), and the first summer splendor of the flora 
had passed away. There were some wild sunflowers and 
lupines, and occasionally great purple beds of the cbome. 



172 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

Sometimes the Platte, forcing its way through the long, 
monotonous waves of the soil, made for itself the sem- 
blance of a valley, with narrow lengths of fresh bottom- 
land and low knobs of hills ; but, on looking back on the 
day's journey, I can recall no single feature of prominence. 
It was one landscape all the way. 

Until evening, at least. Then the sun came out and 
illuminated the barracks of Julesburg, the flag-staff, and 
flag. The buildings surrounding the parade-ground are of 
adobes — homely, but clean. The commanding officer's 
residence, of the same material — a French cottage, with 
mansard roof — is actually beautiful. We halted long 
enough to exchange a few remarks with the officers, and 
to be assured by them that there was no immediate danger 
of an Indian attack ; then we pushed on to the village of 
Julesburg, where we found supper, a two-story hotel nearly 
completed, a store and billiard-room ! I perceive that 
speculation (which is another name for civilization) is 
anticipating the Pacific Railroad. 

We now passed out of Colorado into Nebraska, having 
made just half the distance from Denver to Fort Kearney. 
This was a matter for congratulation ; but the second night 
wns coming on, and we had little hope that fatigue would 
bring sleep. One of our passengers only was fortunate. 
He had the happy faculty of distributing himself, as it 
seemed, all over the coach, and remaining unconscious, 
while his head was in the way of one, his hips of another, 
and his feet of a third. During the day, by mutual ar- 
rangement and concession, we relieved our cramped mus- 
cles as much as possible ; when we settled for the night 
(a mere make-believe) this was no longer possible, and the 
season of suffering began. Except while the horses were 
being changed at the stations, I do not believe that I slept 
at all. The desperate attempt to do so produced a dim, 
dazed condition, wherein I heard the constant roll of the 
wheels, and felt every jolt of the coach. 



HOMEWARD, ALONG THE PLATTE. 173 

On Wednesday morning at daybreak we halted for break- 
fast at Alkali Station, a dreary adobe building in the midst 
of a dreary landscape, which had not yet shaken off the 
gray night mist. From this point the country began to 
improve. The attempts of the Platte to establish a valley 
of its own gradually succeeded. There were marked lines 
of bluffy hills on either side, green bottom-lands, now and 
then imposingly broad, willow-brush along the river-banks 
and on the scattered islands, and at last clumps of cotton- 
wood trees. We still traversed streaks of sand, still drank 
alkali water ; but the road was alive with teams, and there 
were grazing and supply ranches at intervals of four or 
five miles. Here and there new adobe buildings were 
going up. We saw red cedar logs, which the people in- 
formed us came from valleys in the rear of the bluffs ; and 
there was evidently no agriculture, simply because it had 
not been tried. 

The loneliness of the Plains was now so invaded that I 
could only realize with difficulty where we were. We 
passed mile after mile of great freight wagons — some of 
them carrying four tons weight and drawn by six yoke of 
oxen — of emigrant wagons, where the sunburned women 
and wild-looking children were stowed among the piled 
household goods, — there was no end to them. At noon 
the wagons, under the direction of a train-master, were 
" corralled " in a half-circle, the oxen turned loose on the 
bottoms, and the teamsters — except those detailed as 
cooks — took their ease in the shade between the wheels. 
They appeared to be scattered portions of a single hun- 
dred-mile-long caravan. The ranches were well supplied 
with those articles which the strong and rather coarse I 
of these wagon-men demand: whatever their quality may 
be, the prices are superb. Mr. Beard bought a small tum- 
bler for seventy-five cents | 

Before we reached Cottonwood, which is half way be- 
tween Julesburg ami Fort Kearney, the scenery became 



174 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

pleasant, in spite of its sameness. The valley expanded 
to a breadth of ten miles, and every winding of the Platte, 
which here divides into several arms, could be traced by 
its picturesque lines of timber. On the coach from Omaha 
we found Colonel Chivington (of Sand Creek memory), 
who gave us the welcome, intelligence that the railroad 
trains were within sixty-five miles of Fort Kearney. All 
the passengers had their heads tied up, to keep off the 
buffalo-gnats ; yet we were not molested in the least. At 
Cottonwood, the bottoms of thick green grass, the clumps 
and lines of timber, with the first appearance of the ash 
and elm, were a delight to the eye. Here we got a capital 
dinner, and the water began to lose its alkaline taste. 

All the afternoon the landscapes of the Platte were 
broad and beautiful. The accession of the north branch 
gave the river a majestic breadth and sweep ; the valley 
became fifteen or twenty miles wide, between bluffs which 
now rose high enough to make low, blue headlands in the 
distance. In some glens on the right we saw red cedar. 
Here, at least, there is a fine field for agriculture : I doubt, 
even, whether irrigation will be required. I had not ex- 
pected to strike the fertile eastern belt of the Plains so 
soon. It was a warmer counterpart of the rich French 
lowlands, lacking only the grace given by centuries of 
human habitation. 

We rolled off the fourth hundred miles from Denver 
during a third painful night, and at six o'clock on Thurs- 
day morning drove into the village of Kearney, a mile or 
two west of the fort. The stage was just ready to start 
for the end of the railroad, and the local passengers in 
waiting grudged us time for breakfast. The crossing of 
the Platte, they said, would take from two to three hours, 
and we should have trouble in reaching Lone Tree Station 
by six o'clock in the evening. The station agent, however, 
was on our side, and we snatched a hasty refreshment be- 
fore departing for the ferry in an open, jolting wagon. 



HOMEWARD, ALONG THE PLATTE. 175 

There were twelve hundred Pawnees encamped near the 
fort, and I should have visited their camp had it been pos- 
sible. I only saw that Kearney is already a smart little 
village, which will soon be a town, and the centre of a 
splendid agricultural region. 

The Platte is here a mile wide, its broad yellow surface 
marked by a thousand shifting currents and the ripple- 
marks of sand-bars. Two crazy little skiffs were moored 
to the bank, and in these it appeared we and our baggage 
were to be transported ; another wagon far away on the 
opposite bank awaited our arrival. There was a pair of 
short oars in the boat, but the ferryman, instead of taking 
them, deliberately stripped to the skin and jumped into the 
water. We were advised to follow his example before 
taking our seats, but we only partially complied, retaining 
shirts and coats to ward oif the scorching sun. The other 
boat being similarly prepared, we commenced the transit, 
which is unique of its kind. 

If the Missouri pilot learns a new channel with every 
voyage, our Platte ferryman had even less dependence on 
his route. He chose his course entirely by appearances on 
the surface, avoiding both the sand-bars and the deeper 
portions, for we stuck fast on the former, and drifted in the 
latter. His policy was to walk on the very edge of the 
bar, towing the boat by the bow. Sometimes he walked 
a hundred yards up stream, then as far down again, tack- 
ing and veering like a ship in a shifting gale. At one mo- 
ment he stood in a foot of water and the boat sat fast; the 
next, he plunged overhead and clung, floating, to the gun- 
wale, while a passenger rowed. In half an hour we were 
half-way across ; then one of our company stripped and 
went to the ferryman's assistance. Between the two, we 
reached the opposite bank in about an hour ; the second 
boat, which had meanwhile stranded, detained us half an 
hour more. Such is the Platte — the meanest of rivers! 

It was a jolting old mule-wagon which was waiting for 



176 COLORADO : A SUMMER TRIP. 

us; but a stage we were told would be found some five 
miles further on ! Away we went in the clear, hot sun- 
shine, over meadows of splendid grass, along the edges of 
beautiful groves and thickets, past the corn-fields of pioneer 
settlers, when, behold! an islanded arm of the river at 
least two hundred yards wide appeared before us. We had 
not yet crossed all the Platte. This arm, however, was 
fordable ; all went well until we reached the middle, when 
the team stuck. The bottom being quicksand, the mo- 
ment the wagon stood still the wheels began to sink. Out 
sprang our ferryman, seized the tires, and urged until we 
moved again. Then a w r hiffletree broke, and again we 
commenced sinking ; the process was repeated several 
times, and we were all on the point of taking to the river, 
when a final desperate tug brought us over the last 
channel. 

Once in the stage, we rolled rapidly down the valley. I 
was surprised to find settlement pushed so far westward. 
From the time we crossed the Platte we were never out of 
sight of corn and wheat-fields — and what dark, heavy, lux- 
uriant grain ! No irrigation is needed, and there are no 
finer crops east of the Rocky Mountains. The native 
grasses are rank and thick as a jungle, and furnish an 
unlimited quantity of the finest hay. Some of the farmers 
have planted little groves of cotton-wood about their houses ; 
and the rapidity with which they grow (six to ten feet in 
a year) shows how easy it will be to reclothe these treeless 
regions. 

We were detained an hour waiting for dinner, and the 
chances of our catching the evening train so diminished 
that we presented the driver with a slight testimonial of 
respect, in order to insure greater speed. The horses were 
poor and the afternoon very hot, but we reached Lone Tree 
before six o'clock, and w r ere finally set down in the grass, 
beside the waiting train, some minutes before its departure. 
Here there was a saloon and two boarding shanties, which 



HOMEWARD, ALONG THE PLATTE. 177 

are moved as the road moves. The track is already laid 
fourteen miles west of the Lone Tree, and is being extended 
at the rate of a mile and a half per day. Recently two 
miles and seventeen hundred feet were laid in a single day — 
the greatest feat of the kind in the history of railroad 
building ! The grading has already passed Fort Kearney, 
and will reach Cottonwood — half way from Omaha to 
Denver — by next winter. Who disbelieves in a railroad 
across the continent now ? 

When the train started, and the fair sunset sat upon the 
grassy swells and far dim groves of the Platte, I gave my- 
self up to the exquisite sensation of rest. Aching in every 
limb, and feverish from loss of sleep, the knowledge that 
our hardships were over, was almost as soothing as slum- 
ber. There were but few passengers on the train, and 
each of us enjoyed the luxury of a double seat, arranged 
as a couch, for the night. Daybreak found us within ten 
miles of Omaha, and at six o'clock we were set down 
at the hotel, in precisely three days and twenty-two hours 
from Denver. 

12 



xxn. 



GLIMPSES OF NEBRASKA. 



St. Joseph, Mo., July 27, 1866. 

Except that vegetables are earlier and more abundant, 
and that one is a little nearer to fruit and New York news- 
papers, I do not find a great deal of difference between the 
civilization of Nebraska and that of Colorado. Omaha 
and Denver are places of about the same size, — r- the latter 
probably the better built of the two. From this time on, 
the former will increase more rapidly ; but when the rail- 
road reaches Denver, I imagine the balance will be re- 
stored. The people of Omaha are convinced that their 
place will be another Chicago ; and, as they see six hun- 
dred buildings going up this season, we cannot so much 
wonder at their " great expectations." They certainly have 
a beautiful location — if the Missouri River were to be de- 
pended upon. The crescent hills, open toward the east, 
inclose a high, favorable shelf of land, upon which the city 
can spread for some time to come. It is three miles across 
to the Iowa hills, and the picturesque town of Council 
Bluffs at their feet, so that they who reside in the higher 
part of Omaha enjoy a much broader and more beautiful 
view than can be had from any other place on the Missouri. 

I devoted the first twenty-four hours to absolute rest, 
after my journey across the Plains. Moreover, the weather 
was truly African in its dry, intense heat, making sight- 
seeing so much of a task that I deserve some credit for 
seeing anything beyond what the hotel windows allowed. 
In the pleasant company of Governor Saunders and Mr. 



GLMPSES OF NEBRASKA. 179 

< Frost, of the Pacific Railroad, I visited the height on which 
the Capitol stands, the sulphur springs, and the extensive 
shops and works which the railroad company has erected 
within the past six months. What the latter has accom- 
plished is really amazing. There is now rail enough on 
hand to reach Cottonwood, one hundred miles beyond Fort 
Kearney ; several splendid locomotives are waiting to be 
called into service, the manufacture of cars has com- 
menced, and the grandest basis is already laid for carrying 
on the business of the road. The ties, mostly brought 
down from the Upper Missouri, — whether of pine, elm, 
or cotton-wood, — are bumetized to render them durable. 
Some idea of the enormous expense of building the road 
may be obtained from the statement that each tie, when put 
down in its place, has cost the company from one and a 
half to two dollars ! The cost of bringing railroad iron, 
locomotives, and machinery to Omaha is also very great, as 
there is no rail connection with the East. None of the 
lines through Iowa will be completed before next summer. 

The same process which I had noticed in Kansas — the 
gradual restoration of forests — may be observed here. 
The hills and valleys around Omaha, wherever they have 
been protected from fire, are rapidly being clothed with tim- 
ber. Clumps of cotton-wood and evergreens — sometimes 
small groves of the former — have been planted around the 
farm-houses, which are built in dips and hollows of the 
boundless grassy waves of the landscape. 

The country is one of the most beautiful I ever looked 
upon. A little more sandy, perhaps, than Kansas, but 
equally fertile, it presents the same general features. I am 
more than ever struck with the great difference between 
this region and that to the east of the Mississippi. Here, 
without very bold or prominent forms, there is none of the 
wearisome monotony of the prairie, as in Illinois ; no un- 
sightly clearings, ragged timber, or swampy tracts, as in 
Indiana and Ohio ; but Nature has given the smoothness 



180 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

and finish which elsewhere comes from long cultivation j» 
and in twenty years from now both Kansas and Nebraska 
will appear to be older than any other States west of the 
Alleghanies. They have little of the new, half-developed, 
American air about them ; but suggest some region of 
Europe, from which war has swept away the inhabitants. 

I crossed to Council Bluffs, which has an ancient, sub- 
stantial appearance contrasted with Omaha. The people 
insisted that their rolling prairies, behind the bluffs, were 
even finer than those of Nebraska, — which is scarcely 
possible. They (the people) have just awakened to the 
necessity of annexing themselves to the business world, 
and are now laboring to hurry the railroad through from 
Boonsborough. Some day, perhaps, the Missouri may 
leave the Omaha side of the valley and come back to 
them : at present, their distance from the steamboat land- 
ings is a great drawback. The settling of Montana, never- 
theless, has given a new impulse to all the towns on the 
river. No less than sixty boats have gone up to Fort 
Benton this season. 

On Monday morning I took the steamer for Plattsmouth, 
some twenty-five or thirty miles below, by the river. I 
should have preferred the land journey, but for a heat of 
102° in the shade, a wind like a furnace blast, and stifling 
dust. While the boat was in motion, a barely endurable 
temperature was produced, and I enjoyed, here and there, 
some lively glimpses of valleys on the Nebraska side, that 
of the Platte especially being superb. Plattsmouth is 
nearly a mile below the junction of the rivers, — a pleasant 
little place of a thousand inhabitants. Nothing but the 
heat prevented me from spending the rest of the day and 
evening very agreeably there. 

On Tuesday to Nebraska City, forty miles further, by the 
river. There is little to note on the way except the end- 
less changes of the current, adding hundreds of acres to 
the meadows on one side, and undermining cotton-wood for- 



GLIMPSES OF NEBRASKA. 181 

ests on the other. Nebraska City is not seen to advantage 
from the river, to which it presents its narrowest side, the 
chief portion of the place — which has seven or eight thou- 
sand inhabitants — lying in the rear of the bluffs. It is 
an active, lively town, in spite of a predominance of the 
Missouri-Secesh element, as I am informed. I found a 
very comfortable hotel, and was indebted to an intelligent 
German physician for a drive around the heights toward 
evening. The heat was still my great torment. 

There was no boat down the river on Wednesday, and 
as I had an engagement at Brownville, twenty-five miles 
distant, I was obliged to have dealings wdth a livery-stable. 
The extreme of extortion in this line had been reached, I 
imagined, in Kansas. I was mistaken. For the team 
I hired (driven by an ex-Rebel soldier) I was obliged to 
pay at the rate of eighty-jive cents per mile ! This is double 
Colorado and treble California prices. I was unable to 
resist the outrage ; for the liverymen of Nebraska City have 
a mutual agreement to swindle strangers, and do not inter- 
fere with each other's operations. This is one of the dis- 
advantages of travel in the West. We are told that com- 
petition regulates prices : it does not. On the contrary, 
combination keeps them up. No people are so fleeced and 
flayed as ours. The law offers no protection, because our 
politicians fear to offend any portion of the voting classes. 
" They manage things differently in France." 

Neither the consciousness of having been imposed upon 
(a mean, disagreeable sensation), nor the stifling heat of 
the clay could prevent me from enjoying to the full the 
magnificent country I traversed. During the five hours 1 
was upon the road I never lost the keen sense of surprise 
and admiration which I felt on climbing the first rise of 
land after leaving Nebraska ( 'ity. The wide, billowy green, 
dotted all over with golden islands of harvest: the hollows 
of dark, glittering maize ; the park-like clumps of timber 
along the courses of streams; the soft, airy blue of the dis- 



182 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

tant undulations ; these were the materials which went to the 
making up of every landscape, and of which, in their sweet, 
harmonious, pastoral beauty, the eye never grew weary 
Not even when the sun burned with the stupefying fierce- 
ness of noon, and the vegetation seemed to crisp and 
shrivel in the fiery south wind, did I wish to shorten the 
journey. 

Brownville is a small, but pretty town, with a decided 
New England atmosphere. By the time I reached it, I 
had decided that this should be my last day of mere sight- 
seeing, and my last evening of lecture, in such a tempera- 
ture. I turned away from the enticements of Pawnee, and 
other interior districts, and resolutely set my face toward 
home. There was no boat the next day, but a stage for St. 
Joseph (between eighty and ninety miles distant) the same 
evening ; consequently a splendid moon, with neither heat 
nor dust, for a considerable portion of the way. At eleven 
o'clock I said good-by to the friends who had made my 
short stay so pleasant, and, making a virtue of an inevitable 
fact, decided that the night was too beautiful to be spent in 
slumber. 

The records of the United States Land Office at Brown- 
ville show that seventy-one thousand acres were entered in 
the district during the quarter ending June 30. As two 
thirds of this amount were taken by actual settlers as home- 
steads ; as the other districts of the Territory show very 
nearly an equal growth, and as the business of the present 
quarter, so far, keeps pace with the last, it is easy to esti- 
mate the increase of population for the year. It cannot be 
reckoned at less than fifteen thousand, making the present 
population of the Territory about seventy-five thousand. 
When the splendid agricultural capacities of the country 
are better understood, the ratio of immigration will in- 
crease. Nebraska cannot much longer be kept out of the 
Union by A. J.'s one-man power. 

The night-journey was delicious. There was no other 



GLIMPSES OF NEBRASKA. 183 

passenger, and I rode with the driver, a Union soldier from 
Massachusetts, (how different from my Rebel of the day 
before !) for the sake of society. The meadows, thickets, 
groves, and grain-fields near at hand were clearly revealed 
in the moonlight, but beyond them the scenery melted into 
a silvery indistinctness. The signs of dawn came only too 
soon, for with the first light of day I knew that the dewy 
freshness of the air would be lost. I still had an entire 
day of heat before me. 

We stopped for breakfast at a place called Rulo (the 
true spelling would be Rouleau, after the first French set- 
tler), and then pushed onward toward the Kansas line. 
Across a bottom of almost incredible fertility, then a ferry 
over the beautiful Nemaha River, and we left Nebraska 
behind us. An Indian Reservation came next, and the 
sight of two gayly dressed squaws on horseback, and two 
naked boys trying to catch a pony, seemed to give a totally 
different character to the scenery. It became again the 
rich, free wilderness. 

During the day I had several fellow-passengers, — a gen- 
tleman from the Cherokee Country, an intelligent and glo- 
riously loyal Missouri lady, and several specimens of the 
local population. The road ran some distance inland from 
the river, climbing long swells whence there were out-looks 
over ten or fifteen miles of magnificent country. All this 
region is being rapidly settled. Villages — the sure sign 
of permanent occupation — are springing up here and 
there ; neat, substantial farm-houses are taking the place 
of the original cabins ; and hedges of Osage orange are 
gradually creeping around the broad fields. When I first 
saw the bottoms of the Kaw and Smoky Hill Fork, in 
Kansas, nearly two months ago, it seemed to me that such 
extraordinary beauty and fertility must be exceptional : 
but, last week, I found the same thing repeated on the 
Platte, all tin- way from Cottonwood to Omaha. Now I 
find it in the region intermediate between the two rivers. 



1S4 COLORADO: A SUMMER TRIP. 

and from what I hear of the valleys of the Neosho, the Re- 
publican, the Big and Little Blues, the Nemaha and Loup 
Fork, I am satisfied that what I have seen is the ordinary, 
average type of all this country. I consider Kansas and 
Nebraska, with the western portions of Iowa and Missouri, 
as the largest unbroken tract of splendid farming land in 
the ivorld. 

No one of us will live to see the beauty and prosperity 
which these States, even in their rude, embryonic condi- 
tion, already suggest. The American of to-day must find 
his enjoyment in anticipating the future. He must look 
beyond the unsightly beginnings of civilization, and pre- 
figure the state of things a century hence, when the Re- 
public will count a population of two hundred millions, and 
there shall be leisure for Taste and Art. We have now 
so much ground to occupy, and we make such haste to 
cover it, that our growth is — and must be — accompanied 
by very few durable landmarks. All is slight, shabby, and 
imperfect. Not until the greater part of our vacant terri- 
tory is taken up, and there is a broad belt of settlement 
reaching from ocean to ocean, will our Western people 
begin to take root, consolidate their enterprise, and truly 
develop their unparalleled inheritance. 

Travelling all day in a heat of more than 100° in the 
shade — the seventh day of such an extreme temperature 
— I hailed our approach to Elwood, opposite St. Joseph, 
with inexpressible relief. During the afternoon we met a 
great many emigrant wagons, carrying " poor whites " from 
Missouri, Kentucky, and perhaps Tennessee, to lands of 
better promise. The lank, brown men stared at us from 
under their wild, bushy hair, with an expression of ignorant 
wonder ; the mothers, with their four to six small, tow- 
headed children (usually "one at the breast"), sat uncom- 
fortably upon piles of antediluvian furniture, and patiently 
endured heat, flies, and dust. All of these people were 
but one degree removed from pure barbarism, and their 



GLIMPSES OF NEBRASKA. 185 

loyalty must have had its root in instinct rather than 
intelligence. 

If we could diversify the course of emigration, it would 
be a great blessing to the country. A current from the 
North to the South, with a counter-current from the South 
to the North, would " reconstruct " the former Slave States 
more solidly than any political measure. At present, the 
movement is too much one way ; and nothing shows the 
narrowness and blindness of the Southerners so much as 
their continued enmity toward the very class of men they 
most need. 

At six o'clock this evening I reached the Missouri, and 
crossed to this place. Here I am at one of the termini of 
railroad connection with the Atlantic coast, and may con- 
sider my travels at an end. Here the picturesque ceases, 
and the tedious commonplace begins. So here I close my 
communication with my readers, very much more fatigued 
by my experiences than I trust they have been in the read- 
ing of them, and yet more refreshed and invigorated than 
the kindest of those who have followed me can possibly be. 



% 



>• 



Inryj^ryi/o 











' -t 



i* o> 



^0* 




* 10 






\> ,.**», •%, v *: °'. •%. 



^ v 



^"W VM V K 






rV ^ ^ 






r$- V > 










^ * 






>A,V\^ < % > * ? 




^ J? 




^oA^ 






V.^ " ' ' d^* " '•* "^ 







s^cr 



Pii: ^d< 



<L^ <^S 



*" ^ 

oV *•,/%. 




, ^p 












"w -aK:%^ 




- ^6_ 



\o^ 






5 <£* ^ 










%>. .<$> , 



'- ^<** 






V^ 



.<p <*> 






iT 



c fe,. *.. 



^ 



^ ^ 






%^ 









iJ? ^ "/• 










"- "^.d* *«Ss 



V.J? 



^ <3* 












^ 4 °- 







1 » *> ^ s <y ^* / + ,. s «^y <-* 






v^ % 










* o / ^ 






%• ^ 2 



, 



<& ^ 



>^ 









rt> °- 



4 ^ 



^ %» 











. ^> 



* o\ 


















* H «a» • 






0? 



^ °- 







/ «. < * ° V . \> 



■•" ^ ;V 






%-$ 



,«aiPs- 



_ 










•'?w 



/ .. ^ s N -O 



<M 




..-.'., 


















